The Widow's Tears

by George Chapman

1612

THE ACTORS.

Tharsalio, the wooer.

Lysander, his brother.

Cynthia, wife to Lysander.

Ero, waiting-woman to Cynthia.

Hylus, son to Lysander, nephew to Tharsalio.

Eudora, the widow countess.

Sthenia, gentlewoman attending on Eudora.

Ianthe, gentlewoman attending on Eudora.

Clinias, a servant to Eudora.

Lycus, a servant to Eudora.

Argus, gentleman usher to Eudora

Laodice, daughter to Eudora.

Rebus, a suitor to Eudora.

Hiarbas, Friend to Rebus.

Psorabeus, Friend to Rebus.

The Governor of Cyprus

Captain of the Watch

Two Soldiers

Arsace, a pandress.

Thomasin, a courtesan

The Scene:

Paphos, on the Island of Cyprus.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Room in the House of Lysander.

Enter Tharsalio solus, with a glass in his hand,

making ready.

Thar. Thou blind imperfect goddess, that delights

(Like a deep-reaching statesman) to converse

Only with fools, jealous of knowing spirits,

For fear their piercing judgments might discover

Thy inward weakness and despise thy power,

Contemn thee for a goddess; thou that lad'st

Th' unworthy ass with gold, while worth and merit

Serve thee for nought, weak Fortune, I renounce

Thy vain dependance, and convert my duty

And sacrifices of my sweetest thoughts

To a more noble deity, sole friend to worth,

And patroness of all good spirits, Confidence;

She be my guide, and hers the praise of these

My worthy undertakings.

Enter Lysander with a glass in his hand,

Cynthia, Hylus, Ero.

Lys. Morrow, brother! Not ready yet?

Thar. No; I have somewhat of the brother in me.

I dare say your wife is many times ready, and you

not up − Save you, sister; how are you enamoured

of my presence? How like you my aspect?

Cyn. Faith, no worse than I did last week; the weather

has nothing changed the grain of your complexion.

Thar. A firm proof 'tis in grain, and so are not all

complexions. A good soldier's face, sister!

Cyn. Made to be worn under a beaver.

Thar. Ay, and 'twould show well enough under a mask,

too.

Lys. So much for the face!

Thar. But is there no object in this suit to whet your

tongue upon?

Lys. None, but Fortune send you well to wear it; for

she best knows how you got it.

Thar. Faith, 'tis the portion she bestows upon younger

brothers, valour and good clothes. Marry, if you ask

how we come by this new suit, I must take time to

answer it; for as the ballad says, In written books I

find it. Brother, these are the blossoms of spirit; and I

will have it said for my father's honour, that some of

his children were truly begotten.

Lys. Not all?

Thar. Shall I tell you, brother, that I know will rejoice

you? My former suits have been all spenders; this shall

be a speeder.

Lys. A thing to be heartily wished; but, brother, take

heed you be not gulled; be not too forward.

Thar. 'T had been well for me if you had followed that

counsel. You were too forward when you stepped into

the world before me and gulled me of the land that my

spirits and parts were indeed born to.

Cyn. May we not have the blessing to know the aim of

your fortunes? What coast, for Heaven's love?

Thar. Nay, 'tis a project of state: you may see the

preparation, but the design lies hidden in the breasts of

the wise.

Lys. May we not know't?

Thar. Not unless you'll promise me to laugh at it, for

without your applause I'll none.

Lys. The quality of it may be such as a laugh will not

be ill bestowed upon't; pray Heaven I call not Arsace

sister.

Cyn. What, the pandress?

Thar. Know you (as who knows not?) the exquisite

lady of the palace, the late governor's admired widow,

the rich and haughty Countess Eudora? Were not she a

jewel worth the wearing, if a man knew how to win her?

Lys. How's that, how's that?

Thar. Brother, there is a certain goddess called

Confidence, that carries a main stroke in honourable

preferments. Fortune waits upon her, Cupid is at her

beck; she sends them both of errands. This deity doth

promise me much assistance in this business.

Lys. But if this deity should draw you up in a basket to

your countess's window, and there let you hang for all

the wits in the town to shoot at; how then?

Thar. If she do, let them shoot their bolts and spare

not; I have a little bird in a cage here that sings me

better comfort. What should be the bar? You'll say,

I was page to the Count her husband. What of that? I

have thereby one foot in her favour already. She has

taken note of my spirit and surveyed my good parts,

and the picture of them lives in her eye; which sleep, I

know, cannot close till she have embraced the

substance.

Lys. All this savours of the blind goddess you speak of.

Thar. Why should I despair but that Cupid hath one

dart in store for her great ladyship, as well as for any

other huge lady whom she hath made stoop gallant to

kiss their worthy followers? In a word, I am assured

of my speed. Such fair attempts led by a brave resolve

are evermore seconded by Fortune.

Cyn. But, brother, have I not heard you say your own

ears have been witness to her vows, made solemnly to

your late lord, in memory of him to preserve till death

the unstained honour of a widow's bed? If nothing else,

yet that might cool your confidence.

Thar. Tush, sister! Suppose you should protest with

solemn oath (as perhaps you have done) if ever Heaven

hears your prayers that you may live to see my brother

nobly interred, to feed only upon fish and not endure the

touch of flesh during the wretched Lent of your

miserable life; would you believe it, brother?

Lys. I am therein most confident.

Thar. Indeed you had better believe it than try it. But

pray, sister, tell me − you are a woman − do not you

wives nod your heads and smile one upon another when

ye meet abroad?

Cyn. Smile? Why so?

Thar. As who should say, “Are not we mad wenches,

that can lead our blind husbands thus by the noses?” Do

you not brag among yourselves how grossly you abuse

their honest credulities? How they adore you for saints,

and you believe it, while you adhorn their temples, and

they believe it not? How you vow widowhood in their

lifetime and they believe you, when even in the sight of

their breathless corse, ere they be fully cold, you join

embraces with his groom, or his physician, and perhaps

his poisoner; or at least, by the next moon (if you can

expect so long) solemnly plight new hymeneal bonds,

with a wild, confident, untamed ruffian –

Lys. As for example?

Thar. And make him the top of his house and

sovereign lord of the palace? As for example, look you,

brother, this glass is mine –

Lys. What of that?

Thar. While I am with it, it takes impression from my

face; but can I make it so mine, that it shall be of no use

to any other? Will it not do his office to you or you; and

as well to my groom as to myself? Brother, monopolies

are cried down. Is it not madness for me to believe,

when I have conquered that fort of chastity the great

Countess, that if another man of my making and mettle

shall assault her, her eyes and ears should lose their

function, her other parts their use, as if Nature had made

her all in vain, unless I only had stumbled into her

quarters?

Cyn. Brother, I fear me in your travels, you have drunk

too much of that Italian air, that hath infected the whole

mass of your ingenuous nature, dried up in you all sap

of generous disposition, poisoned the very essence of

your soul, and so polluted your senses that whatsoever

enters there takes from them contagion and is to your

fancy represented as foul and tainted, which in itself,

perhaps, is spotless.

Thar. No, sister, it hath refined my senses, and made

me see with clear eyes, and to judge of objects as they

truly are, not as they seem, and through their mask to

discern the true face of things. It tells me how short-

lived widows' tears are, that their weeping is in truth

but laughing under a mask, that they mourn in their

gowns and laugh in their sleeves; all which I believe

as a Delphian oracle, and am resolved to burn in that

faith. And in that resolution do I march to the great

lady.

Lys. You lose time, brother, in discourse; by this had

you bore up with the lady, and clapped her aboard, for

I know your confidence will not dwell long in the

service.

Thar. No, I will perform it in the conqueror's style.

Your way is not to win Penelope by suit, but by

surprise. The castle's carried by a sudden assault, that

would perhaps sit out a twelvemonth's siege. It would

be a good breeding to my young nephew here, if he

could procure a stand at the palace to see with what

alacrity I'll acoast her countess-ship, in what garb I will

woo her, with what facility I will win her.

Lys. It shall go hard but we'll hear your entertainment

for your confidence sake.

Thar. And having won her, nephew, this sweet face,

Which all the city says is so like me,

Like me shall be preferred, for I will wed thee

To my great widow's daughter and sole heir,

The lovely spark, the bright Laodicè.

Lys. A good pleasant dream!

Thar. In this eye I see

That fire that shall in me inflame the mother,

And that in this shall set on fire the daughter.

It goes, sir, in a blood; believe me, brother,

These destinies go ever in a blood.

Lys. These diseases do, brother, take heed of them;

fare you well; take heed you be not baffled.

[Exeunt Lysander, Cynthia, Hylus, Ero;

manet Tharsalio.]

Thar. Now, thou that art the third blind deity

That governs earth in all her happiness,

The life of all endowments. Confidence,

Direct and prosper my intentiön.

Command thy servant deities, Love and Fortune,

To second my attempts for this great lady,

Whose page I lately was; that she, whose board

I might not sit at, I may board abed,

And under bring, who bore so high her head.

[Exit.]

ACT I, SCENE II.

A Room in the House of Eudora.

Enter Lysander, Lycus.

Lycus. 'Tis miraculous that you tell me, sir; he come to

woo our lady mistress for his wife?

Lys. 'Tis a frenzy he is possessed with, and will not be

cured but by some violent remedy. And you shall favour

me so much to make me a spectator of the scene. But is

she, say you, already accessible for suitors? I thought

she would have stood so stiffly on her widow vow, that

she would not endure the sight of a suitor.

Lycus. Faith, sir, Penelope could not bar her gates

against her wooers; but she will still be mistress of

herself. It is, you know, a certain itch in female blood:

they love to be sued to; but she'll hearken to no suitors.

Lys. But by your leave, Lycus, Penelope is not so wise

as her husband Ulysses, for he, fearing the jaws of the

Siren, stopped his ears with wax against her voice.

They that fear the adder's sting, will not come near her

hissing. Is any suitor with her now?

Lycus. A Spartan lord, dating himself our great

Viceroy's kinsman, and two or three other of his

country lords as spots in his train. He comes armed

with his Altitude's letters in grace of his person, with

promise to make her a duchess if she embrace the

match. This is no mean attraction to her high thoughts;

but yet she disdains him.

Lys. And how then shall my brother presume of

acceptance? Yet I hold it much more under her

contentment to marry such a nasty braggart, than under

her honour to wed my brother − a gentleman, (though I

say't) more honourably descended than that lord, who,

perhaps, for all his ancestry, would be much troubled to

name you the place where his father was born.

Lycus. Nay, I hold no comparison betwixt your brother

and him. And the venerean disease, to which they say

he has been long wedded, shall, I hope, first rot him,

ere she endure the savour of his sulphurous breath.

Well, her ladyship is at hand; y' are best take you to

your stand.

Lys. Thanks, good friend Lycus!

[Exit.]

Enter Argus, barehead, with whom another usher,

Lycus, joins, going over the stage.

Hiarbas and Psorabeus next, Rebus single before

Eudora, Laodice;

Sthenia bearing her train, Ianthe following.

Reb. I admire, madam, you cannot love whom the

Viceroy loves.

Hiar. And one whose veins swell so with his blood,

madam, as they do in his lordship.

Psor. A near and dear kinsman his lordship is to his

Altitude the Viceroy; in care of whose good speed here

I know his Altitude hath not slept a sound sleep since

his departure.

Eud. I thank Venus I have, ever since he came.

Reb. You sleep away your honour, madam, if you

neglect me.

Hiar. Neglect your lordship? That were a negligence

no less than disloyalty.

Eud. I much doubt that, sir; it were rather a

presumption to take him, being of the blood viceroyal.

Reb. Not at all, being offered, madam.

Eud. But offered ware is not so sweet, you know.

They are the graces of the Viceroy that woo me, not

your lordship's, and I conceive it should be neither

honour nor pleasure to you to be taken in for another

man's favours.

Reb. Taken in, madam? You speak as I had no house

to hide my head in.

Eud. I have heard so indeed, my lord, unless it be

another man's.

Reb. You have heard untruth then; these lords can well

witness I can want no houses.

Hiar. Nor palaces, neither, my lord!

Psor. Nor courts neither!

Eud. Nor temples, I think, neither; I believe we shall

have a god of him.

Enter Tharsalio.

Arg. See the bold fellow! Whither will you, sir?

Thar. Away! − All honour to you, madam!

Eud. How now, base companion?

Thar. Base, madam? He's not base that fights as high

as your lips.

Eud. And does that beseem my servant?

Thar. Your court-servant, madam.

Eud. One that waited on my board?

Thar. That was only a preparation to my weight on

your bed, madam.

Eud. How dar'st thou come to me with such a thought?

Thar. Come to you, madam? I dare come to you at

midnight, and bid defiance to the proudest spirit that

haunts these your loved shadows, and would any way

make terrible the access of my love to you.

Eud. Love me? Love my dog!

Thar. I am bound to that by the proverb, madam.

Eud. Kennel without with him; intrude not here. What

is it thou presum'st on?

Thar. On your judgment, madam, to choose a man,

and not a giant; as these are that come with titles and

authority, as they would conquer or ravish you. But I

come to you with the liberal and ingenuous graces, love,

youth, and gentry; which (in no more deformed a person

than myself) deserve any princess.

Eud. In your saucy opinion, sir, and sirrah too! Get

gone, and let this malapert humour return thee no more,

for, afore Heaven, I'll have thee tossed in blankets.

Thar. In blankets, madam? You must add your sheets,

and you must be the tosser.

Reb. Nay, then, sir, y' are as gross as you are saucy.

Thar. And all one, sir, for I am neither.

Reb. [drawing] Thou art both.

Thar. Thou liest; keep up your smiter, Lord Rebus.

Hiar. Usest thou thus his Altitude's cousin?

Reb. The place, thou know'st, protects thee.

Thar. Tie up your valour then till another place turn me

loose to you. You are the lord, I take it, that wooed my

great mistress here with letters from his Altitude; which

while she was reading, your lordship (to entertain time)

straddled and scaled your fingers, as you would show

what an itching desire you had to get betwixt her sheets.

Hiar. 'Slight, why does your lordship endure him?

Reb. The place, the place, my lord!

Thar. Be you his attorney, sir.

Hiar. What would you do, sir?

Thar. Make thee leap out at window at which thou

cam'st in. Whoreson bagpipe lords!

Eud. What rudeness is this?

Thar. What tameness is it in you, madam, to stick at

the discarding of such a suitor? A lean lord, dubbed with

the lard of others! A diseased lord, too, that opening

certain magic characters in an unlawful book, up start as

many aches in's bones, as there are ouches in's skin.

Send him, mistress, to the widow your tenant, the

virtuous pandress Arsace. I perceive he has crowns

in's purse, that make him proud of a string; let her pluck

the goose therefore, and her maids dress him.

Psor. Still, my lord, suffer him?

Reb. The place, sir, believe it, the place!

Thar. O, good Lord Rebus, the place is never like to be

yours that you need respect it so much.

Eud. Thou wrong'st the noble gentleman.

Thar. Noble gentleman? A tumour, an imposthume, he

is, madam: a very hautboy, a bag-pipe, in whom there is

nothing but wind, and that none of the sweetest

neither.

Eud. Quit the house of him by th' head and shoulders!

Thar. Thanks to your honour, madam, and my lord

cousin, the Viceroy, shall thank you.

Reb. So shall he indeed, sir.

Lycus, Arg. Will you begone, sir?

Thar. Away, poor fellows!

Eud. What is he made of, or what devil sees

Your childish and effeminate spirits in him,

That thus ye shun him? Free us of thy sight.

Begone, or I protest thy life shall go!

Thar. Yet shall my ghost stay still, and haunt those beauties

And glories that have rendered it immortal.

But since I see your blood runs, for the time,

High in that contradiction that fore-runs

Truest agreements (like the elements,

Fighting before they generate) and that time

Must be attended most in things most worth,

I leave your honour freely, and commend

That life you threaten, when you please, to be

Adventured in your service, so your honour

Require it likewise.

Eud. Do not come again.

Thar. I'll come again, believe it, and again.

[Exit.]

Eud. If he shall dare to come again, I charge you

Shut doors upon him.

Arg. You must shut them, madam,

To all men else then, if it please your honour;

For if that any enter, he'll be one.

Eud. I hope, wise sir, a guard will keep him out.

Arg. Afore Heaven, not a guard, an't please your

honour!

Eud. Thou liest, base ass; one man enforce a guard?

I'll turn ye all away, by our isle's goddess,

If he but set a foot within my gates.

Psor. Your honour shall do well to have him poisoned.

Hiar. Or begged of your cousin the Viceroy.

[Exeunt.]

ACT I, SCENE III.

Before the House of Eudora.

Lysander, from his stand.

Lys. This braving wooer hath the success expected;

the favour I obtained made me witness to the sport,

and let his confidence be sure, I'll give it him home.

The news by this is blown through the four quarters of

the city. Alas, good confidence! But the happiness is,

he has a forehead of proof; the stain shall never stick

there, whatsoever his reproach be.

Enter Tharsalio.

[Aside] What, in discourse?

Thar. Hell and the Furies take this vile encounter!

Who would imagine this Saturnian peacock

Could be so barbarous to use a spirit

Of my erection with such low respect?

'Fore Heaven, it cuts my gall; but I'll dissemble it.

Lys. What, my noble lord?

Thar. Well, sir, that may be yet, and means to be.

Lys. What means your lordship, then, to hang that head

that hath been so erected; it knocks, sir, at your bosom

to come in and hide itself.

Thar. Not a jot!

Lys. I hope by this time it needs fear no horns.

Thar. Well, sir, but yet that blessing runs not always in

a blood.

Lys. What, blanketed? O the gods! Spurned out by

grooms, like a base bisogno! Thrust out by th' head and

shoulders!

Thar. You do well, sir, to take your pleasure of me. −

[Aside] I may turn tables with you ere long.

Lys. What, has thy wit's fine engine taken cold? Art

stuffed in th' head? Canst answer nothing?

Thar. Truth is, I like my entertainment the better that

'twas no better.

Lys. Now the gods forbid that this opinion should run

in a blood!

Thar. Have not you heard this principle, “All things by

strife engender”?

Lys. Dogs and cats do.

Thar. And men and women too.

Lys. Well, brother, in earnest, you have now set your

confidence to school, from whence I hope't has brought

home such a lesson as will instruct his master never

after to begin such attempts as end in laughter.

Thar. Well, sir, you lesson my confidence still; I pray

heavens your confidence have not more shallow ground

(for that I know) than mine you reprehend so.

Lys. My confidence? In what?

Thar. May be you trust too much.

Lys. Wherein?

Thar. In human frailty.

Lys. Why, brother, know you aught that may impeach

my confidence, as this success may yours? Hath your

observation discovered any such frailty in my wife (for

that is your aim I know) then let me know it.

Thar. Good, good! Nay, brother, I write no books of

observations; let your confidence bear out itself, as mine

shall me.

Lys. That's scarce a brother's speech. If there be

aught wherein your brother's good might any way be

questioned, can you conceal it from his bosom?

Thar. So, so! Nay, my saying was but general. I

glanced at no particular.

Lys. Then must I press you further. You spake (as

to yourself, but yet I overheard) as if you knew some

disposition of weakness where I most had fixed my

trust. I challenge you to let me know what 'twas.

Thar. Brother, are you wise?

Lys. Why?

Thar. Be ignorant. Did you never hear of Actӕon?

Lys. What then?

Thar. Curiosity was his death. He could not be content

to adore Diana in her temple, but he must needs dog her

to her retired pleasures, and see her in her nakedness.

Do you enjoy the sole privilege of your wife's bed?

Have you no pretty Paris for your page? No young

Adonis to front you there?

Lys. I think none; I know not.

Thar. Know not still, brother. Ignorance and credulity

are your sole means to obtain that blessing. You see

your greatest clerks, your wisest politicians are not that

way fortunate; your learned lawyers would lose a dozen

poor men's causes to gain a lease on't, but for a term.

Your physician is jealous of his. Your sages in general,

by seeing too much, oversee that happiness. Only your

blockheadly tradesman, your honest-meaning citizen,

your nott-headed country gentleman, your

unapprehending stinkard, is blessed with the sole

prerogative of his wife's chamber, for which he is yet

beholding, not to his stars, but to his ignorance. For, if

he be wise, brother, I must tell you the case alters.

How do you relish these things, brother?

Lys. Passing ill!

Thar. So do sick men solid meats. Heark you, brother,

are you not jealous?

Lys. No; do you know cause to make me?

Thar. Hold you there! Did your wife never spice your

broth with a dram of sublimate? Hath she not yielded

up the fort of her honour to a staring soldado, and

(taking courage from her guilt) played open bankrout

of all shame, and run the country with him? Then

bless your stars, bow your knees to Juno. Look where

she appears.

Enter Cynthia, Hylus and Ero.

Cyn. We have sought you long, sir; there's a

messenger within hath brought you letters from the

Court, and desires your speech.

Lys. [Aside] I can discover nothing in her looks. −

Go, I'll not be long.

Cyn. Sir, it is of weight, the bearer says; and, besides,

much hastens his departure. − Honourable brother, cry

mercy! What, in a conqueror's style? But come and

overcome?

Thar. A fresh course!

Cyn. Alas, you see of how slight metal widows' vows

are made!

Thar. [Aside] And that shall you prove too ere long.

Cyn. Yet, for the honour of our sex, boast not abroad

this your easy conquest; another might perhaps have

stayed longer below stairs, it but was your confidence

that surprised her love.

Hyl. My uncle hath instructed me how to acoast an

honourable lady; to win her, not by suit, but by surprise.

Thar. The whelp and all!

Hyl. Good uncle, let not your near honours change

your manners; be not forgetful of your promise to me,

touching your lady's daughter, Laodice. My fancy runs

so upon't that I dream every night of her.

Thar. A good chicken! Go thy ways, thou hast done

well; eat bread with thy meat.

Cyn. Come, sir, will you in?

Lys. I'll follow you.

Cyn. I'll not stir a foot without you. I cannot satisfy the

messenger's impatience.

[He takes Tharsalio aside.]

Lys. Will you not resolve me, brother?

Thar. Of what?

Lysander stamps and goes out vexed,

with Cynthia, Hylus, Ero.

So, there's veney for veney, I have given't him i' th'

speeding place for all his confidence. Well, out of this

perhaps there may be moulded matter of more mirth

than my baffling. It shall go hard but I’ll make my

constant sister act as famous a scene as Virgil did his

mistress, who caused all the fire in Rome to fail, so that

none could light a torch but at her nose. Now forth! At

this house dwells a virtuous dame − sometimes of

worthy fame, now like a decayed merchant turned

broker − and retails refuse commodities for unthrifty

gallants. Her wit I must employ upon this business to

prepare my next encounter, but in such a fashion as

shall make all split. − Ho, Madam Arsace! − Pray

Heaven the oyster-wives have not brought the news

of my wooing hither amongst their stale pilchards.

Enter Arsace, Thomasin.

Ars. What, my lord of the palace?

Thar. Look you!

Ars. Why, this was done like a beaten soldier.

Thar. Hark, I must speak with you. I have a share

for you in this rich adventure. You must be the ass

charged with crowns to make way to the fort, and I

the conqueror to follow, and seize it. Seest thou this

jewel?

Ars. Is't come to that? − Why, Thomasin!

Thom. Madam!

Ars. Did not one of the Countess's serving-men tell us

that this gentleman was sped?

Thom. That he did; and how her honour graced and

entertained him in very familiar manner.

Ars. And brought him downstairs herself.

Thom. Ay, forsooth, and commanded her men to bear

him out of doors.

Thar. 'Slight, pelted with rotten eggs?

Ars. Nay, more; that he had already possessed her

sheets.

Thom. No, indeed, mistress, 'twas her blankets.

Thar. Out, you young hedge-sparrow; learn to tread

afore you be fledge!

[He kicks her out.]

Well, have you done now, lady?

Ars. O, my sweet kilbuck!

Thar. You now, in your shallow pate, think this a

disgrace to me; such a disgrace as is a battered helmet

on a soldier's head; it doubles his resolution. Say, shall

I use thee?

Ars. Use me?

Thar. O holy reformation, how art thou fallen down

from the upper bodies of the church to the skirts of the

city! Honesty is stripped out of his true substance into

verbal nicety. Common sinners startle at common

terms, and they that by whole mountains swallow down

the deeds of darkness, a poor mote of a familiar word

makes them turn up the white o' th’ eye. Thou art the

lady's tenant.

Ars. For term, sir.

Thar. A good induction: be successful for me, make

me lord of the palace, and thou shalt hold thy tenement

to thee and thine heirs for ever, in free smockage, as of

the manner of panderage, provided always –

Ars. Nay, if you take me unprovided!

Thar. Provided, I say, that thou mak'st thy repair to her

presently with a plot I will instruct thee in; and for thy

surer access to her greatness thou shalt present her, as

from thyself, with this jewel.

Ars. So her old grudge stand not betwixt her and me.

Thar. Fear not that.

Presents are present cures for female grudges,

Make bad seem good, alter the case with judges.

[Exit with Arsace.]

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A Room in the House of Lysander.

Enter Lysander and Tharsalio.

Lys. So now we are ourselves. Brother, that ill-relished

speech you let slip from your tongue hath taken so deep

hold of my thoughts, that they will never give me rest

till I be resolved what 'twas you said, you know,

touching my wife.

Thar. Tush, I am weary of this subject! I said not so.

Lys. By truth itself, you did! I overheard you. Come, it

shall nothing move me, whatsoever it be; pray thee

unfold briefly what you know.

Thar. Why, briefly, brother, I know my sister to be

the wonder of the earth and the envy of the heavens,

virtuous, loyal, and what not. Briefly, I know she hath

vowed that till death and after death she'll hold inviolate

her bonds to you, and that her black shall take no other

hue, all which I firmly believe. In brief, brother, I know

her to be a woman. But you know, brother, I have other

irons on th' anvil.

[Exiturus.]

Lys. You shall not leave me so unsatisfied; tell me

what 'tis you know.

Thar. Why, brother, if you be sure of your wife's

loyalty for term of life, why should you be curious to

search the almanacs for after-times, whether some

wandering Æneas should enjoy your reversion, or

whether your true turtle would sit mourning on a

withered branch, till Atropos cut her throat? Beware of

curiosity, for who can resolve you? You'll say, perhaps,

her vow.

Lys. Perhaps I shall.

Thar. Tush, herself knows not what she shall do, when

she is transformed into a widow! You are now a sober

and staid gentleman. But if Diana for your curiosity

should translate you into a monkey, do you know what

gambols you should play? Your only way to be resolved

is to die and make trial of her.

Lys. A dear experiment; then I must rise again to be

resolved.

Thar. You shall not need. I can send you speedier

advertisement of her constancy by the next ripier that

rides that way with mackerel. And so I leave you.

[Exit Tharsalio.]

Lys. All the Furies in hell attend thee! Has given me

A bone to tire on, with a pestilence. 'Slight, know!

What can he know? What can his eye observe

More than mine own, or the most piercing sight

That ever viewed her? By this light I think

Her privat'st thought may dare the eye of Heaven.

And challenge th' envious world to witness it.

I know him for a wild, corrupted youth,

Whom profane ruffians, squires to bawds and strumpets,

Drunkards spewed out of taverns into th' sinks

Of tap-houses and stews, revolts from manhood,

Debauched perdus, have by their companies

Turned devil like themselves, and stuffed his soul

With damned opinions and unhallowed thoughts

Of womanhood, of all humanity,

Nay, deity itself.

Enter Lycus.

Welcome, friend Lycus.

Lycus. Have you met with your capricious brother?

Lys. He parted hence but now.

Lycus. And has he yet resolved you of that point you

brake with me about?

Lys. Yes, he bids me die for further trial of her

constancy.

Lycus. That were a strange physic for a jealous

patient; to cure his thirst with a draught of poison. Faith,

sir, discharge your thoughts on't; think 'twas but a buzz

devised by him to set your brains a-work, and divert

your eye from his disgrace. The world hath written your

wife in highest lines of honoured fame; her virtues so

admired in this isle as the report thereof sounds in

foreign ears; and strangers oft arriving here, as some

rare sight, desire to view her presence, thereby to

compare the picture with the original.

Nor think he can turn so far rebel to his blood,

Or to the truth itself, to misconceive

Her spotless love and loyalty; perhaps

Oft having heard you hold her faith so sacred,

As, you being dead, no man might stir a spark

Of virtuous love in way of second bonds,

As if you at your death should carry with you

Both branch and root of all affectiön,

'T may be, in that point he's an infidel,

And thinks your confidence may overween.

Lys. So think not I.

Lycus. Nor I, if ever any made it good.

I am resolved, of all she'll prove no changeling.

Lys. Well, I must yet be further satisfied.

And vent this humour by some strain of wit;

Somewhat I'll do, but what I know not yet.

[Exeunt.]

ACT II, SCENE II.

A Room in the House of Eudora.

Enter Sthenia, Ianthe.

Sthen. Passion of virginity, Ianthe, how shall we quit

ourselves of this pandress that is so importunate to

speak with us? Is she known to be a pandress?

Ian. Ay, as well as we are known to be waiting-

women.

Sthen. A shrew take your comparison!

Ian. Let's call out Argus, that bold ass, that never

weighs what he does or says, but walks and talks like

one in a sleep, to relate her attendance to my lady, and

present her.

Sthen. Who, an't please your honour? None so fit to set

on any dangerous exploit. − Ho, Argus!

Enter Argus, bare.

Arg. What's the matter, wenches?

Sthen. You must tell my lady here's a gentlewoman

called Arsace, her honour's tenant, attends her to impart

important business to her.

Arg. I will presently.

[Exit Argus.]

Ian. Well, she has a welcome present to bear out her

unwelcome presence; and I never knew but a good gift

would welcome a bad person to the purest. − Arsace!

Enter Arsace.

Ars. Ay, mistress!

Sthen. Give me your present; I'll do all I can to make

way both for it and yourself.

Ars. You shall bind me to your service, lady.

Sthen. Stand unseen!

Enter Lycus, Eudora, Laodice; Rebus, Hiarbas,

Psorabeus, coming after; Argus coming to Eudora.

Arg. Here's a gentlewoman (an't please your honour)

one of your tenants, desires access to you.

Eud. What tenant? What's her name?

Arg. Arsace, she says, madam.

Eud. Arsace? What, the bawd?

Arg. The bawd, madam? That's without my privity.

[She strikes him.]

Eud. Out, ass! Know'st not thou the pandress Arsace?

Sthen. She presents your honour with this jewel.

Eud. This jewel? How came she by such a jewel?

She has had great customers.

Arg. She had need, madam; she sits at a great rent.

Eud. Alas, for your great rent! I'll keep her jewel, and

keep you her out, ye were best: speak to me for a

pandress?

Arg. [Aside] What shall we do?

Sthen. [Aside] Go to, let us alone! − Arsace!

Ars. Ay, lady!

Sthen. You must pardon us, we cannot obtain your

access.

Ars. Mistress Sthenia, tell her honour, if I get not

access to her, and that instantly, she's undone.

Sthen. This is something of importance − Madam, she

swears your honour is undone, if she speak not with you

instantly.

Eud. Undone?

Ars. Pray her, for her honour's sake, to give me instant

access to her.

Sthen. She makes her business your honour, madam;

and entreats, for the good of that, her instant speech

with you.

Eud. How comes my honour in question? Bring her

to me.

[Arsace advances.]

Ars. Our Cyprian goddess save your good honour!

Eud. Stand you off, I pray. How dare you, mistress,

importune access to me thus, considering the last

warning I gave for your absence?

Ars. Because, madam, I have been moved by your

honour's last most chaste admonition to leave the

offensive life I led before.

Eud. Ay? Have you left it then?

Ars. Ay, I assure your honour, unless it be for the

pleasure of two or three poor ladies, that have prodigal

knights to their husbands.

Eud. Out on thee, impudent!

Ars. Alas, madam, we would all be glad to live in our

callings.

Eud. Is this the reformed life thou talk'st on?

Ars. I beseech your good honour mistake me not, I

boast of nothing but my charity, that's the worst.

Eud. You get these jewels with charity, no doubt. But

what's the point in which my honour stands endangered,

I pray?

Ars. In care of that, madam, I have presumed to

offend your chaste eyes with my presence. Hearing it

reported for truth and generally that your honour will

take to husband a young gentleman of this city called

Tharsalio −

Eud. I take him to husband?

Ars. If your honour does, you are utterly undone, for

he's the most incontinent and insatiate man of women

that ever Venus blessed with ability to please them.

Eud. Let him be the devil! I abhor his thought, and

could I be informed particularly of any of these

slanderers of mine honour, he should as dearly dare it

as anything wherein his life were endangered.

Ars. Madam, the report of it is so strongly confident,

that I fear the strong destiny of marriage is at work in it.

But if it be, madam, let your honour's known virtues

resist and defy it for him, for not a hundred will serve

his one turn. I protest to your honour, when (Venus

pardon me) I winked at my unmaidenly exercise, I have

known nine in a night made mad with his love.

Eud. What tell'st thou me of his love? I tell thee I

abhor him, and destiny must have another mould for my

thoughts than Nature or mine honour, and a witchcraft

above both, to transform me to another shape as soon as

to another conceit of him.

Ars. Then is your good honour just as I pray for you;

and, good madam, even for your virtue's sake, and

comfort of all your dignities and possessions, fix your

whole womanhood against him. He will so enchant you,

as never man did woman: nay, a goddess (say his

light huswives) is not worthy of his sweetness.

Eud. Go to, begone!

Ars. Dear madam, your honour's most perfect

admonitions have brought me to such a hate of these

imperfections, that I could not but attend you with my

duty, and urge his unreasonable manhood to the fill.

Eud. Manhood, quoth you?

Ars. Nay, beastlihood, I might say, indeed, madam, but

for saving your honour. Nine in a night, said I?

Eud. Go to, no more!

Ars. No more, madam? That's enough, one would

think.

Eud. Well, begone, I bid thee!

Ars. Alas, madam, your honour is the chief of our city,

and to whom shall I complain of these inchastities

(being your ladyship's reformed tenant) but to you that

are chastest?

Eud. I pray thee go thy ways, and let me see this

reformation you pretend continued.

Ars. I humbly thank your good honour that was first

cause of it.

Eud. Here's a complaint as strange as my suitor.

Ars. I beseech your good honour think upon him, make

him an example.

Eud. Yet again?

Ars. All my duty to your Excellence!

[Exit Arsace.]

Eud. These sorts of licentious persons, when they are

once reclaimed, are most vehement against licence. But

it is the course of the world to dispraise faults and use

them, that so we may use them the safer. What might a

wise widow resolve upon this point, now? Contentment

is the end of all worldly beings. Beshrew her, would she

had spared her news!

[Exit.]

Reb. See if she take not a contrary way to free herself

of us.

Hiar. You must complain to his Altitude.

Psor. All this for trial is; you must endure

That will have wives, nought else with them is sure.

[Exit Rebus with the others.]

ACT II, SCENE III.

Before the House of Eudora.

Enter Tharsalio, Arsace.

Thar. Hast thou been admitted, then?

Ars. Admitted? Ay, into her heart, I'll able it; never

was man so praised with a dispraise; nor so spoken for

in being railed on. I'll give you my word, I have set her

heart upon as tickle a pin as the needle of a dial, that

will never let it rest till it be in the right position.

Thar. Why dost thou imagine this?

Ars. Because I saw Cupid shoot in my words, and

open his wounds in her looks. Her blood went and

came of errands betwixt her face and her heart, and

these changes I can tell you are shrewd tell-tales.

Thar. Thou speak'st like a doctress in thy faculty; but,

howsoever, for all this foil I'll retrieve the game once

again; he's a shallow gamester that for one displeasing

cast gives up so fair a game for lost.

Ars. Well, 'twas a villanous invention of thine, and had

a swift operation; it took like sulphur. And yet this

virtuous Countess hath to my ear spun out many a

tedious lecture of pure sister's thread against

concupiscence; but ever with such an affected zeal as

my mind gave me she had a kind of secret titillation to

grace my poor house sometimes, but that she feared a

spice of the sciatica, which, as you know, ever runs in

the blood.

Thar. And, as you know, soaks into the bones. But to

say truth, these angry heats that break out at the lips of

these strait-laced ladies, are but as symptoms of a lustful

fever that boils within them. For wherefore rage wives

at their husbands so when they fly out? For zeal against

the sin?

Ars. No, but because they did not purge that sin.

Thar. Th' art a notable siren, and I swear to thee, if I

prosper, not only to give thee thy manor-house gratis,

but to marry thee to some one knight or other, and bury

thy trade in thy ladyship. Go, begone!

[Exit Arsace.]

Enter Lycus.

Thar. What news, Lycus? Where's the lady?

Lycus. Retired into her orchard.

Thar. A pregnant badge of love, she's melancholy. –

Lycus. 'Tis with the sight of her Spartan wooer. But

howsoever 'tis with her, you have practised strangely

upon your brother.

Thar. Why so?

Lycus. You had almost lifted his wit off the hinges.

That spark jealousy, falling into his dry, melancholy

brain, had well near set the whole house on fire.

Thar. No matter, let it work; I did but pay him in's

own coin. 'Sfoot, he plied me with such a volley of

unseasoned scoffs, as would have made Patience itself

turn ruffian, attiring itself in wounds and blood. But is

his humour better qualified, then?

Lycus. Yes, but with a medicine ten parts more

dangerous than the sickness: you know how strange his

dotage ever was on his wife, taking special glory to have

her love and loyalty to him so renowned abroad; to

whom she often-times hath vowed constancy after life,

till her own death had brought, forsooth, her widow-

troth to bed. This he joyed in strangely, and was therein

of infallible belief, till your surmise began to shake it;

which hath loosed it so, as now there's nought can settle

it but a trial, which he's resolved upon.

Thar. As how, man, as how?

Lycus. He is resolved to follow your advice, to die and

make trial of her stableness; and you must lend your

hand to it.

Thar. What, to cut 's throat?

Lycus. To forge a rumour of his death, to uphold it by

circumstance, maintain a public face of mourning, and

all things appertaining.

Thar. Ay, but the means, man? What time? What

probability?

Lycus. Nay, I think he has not licked his whelp into full

shape yet, but you shall shortly hear on 't.

Thar. And when shall this strange conception see light?

Lycus. Forthwith; there's nothing stays him but some

odd business of import, which he must wind up; lest,

perhaps, his absence by occasion of his intended trial

be prolonged above his aims.

Thar. Thanks for this news, i'faith! This may perhaps

prove happy to my nephew. Truth is, I love my sister

well and must acknowledge her more than ordinary

virtues. But she hath so possessed my brother's heart

with vows and disavowings, sealed with oaths, of

second nuptials, as, in that confidence, he hath invested

her in all his state, the ancient inheritance of our family;

and left my nephew and the rest to hang upon her pure

devotion; so as he dead, and she matching (as I am

resolved she will) with some young prodigal, what must

ensue, but her post-issue beggared, and our house,

already sinking, buried quick in ruin. But this trial may

remove it; and since 'tis come to this, mark but the issue,

Lycus; for all these solemn vows, if I do not make her

prove in the handling as weak as a wafer, say I lost my

time in travel. This resolution, then, has set his wits

in joint again; he's quiet?

Lycus. Yes, and talks of you again in the fairest

manner; listens after your speed –

Thar. Nay, he's passing kind; but I am glad of this trial,

for all that.

Lycus. Which he thinks to be a flight beyond your wing.

Thar. But he will change that thought ere long. My bird

you saw even now sings me good news, and makes

hopeful signs to me.

Lycus. Somewhat can I say too. Since your

messenger's departure her ladyship hath been

something altered − more pensive than before − and

took occasion to question of you, what your addictions

were, of what taste your humour was, of what cut you

wore your wit? And all this in a kind of disdainful scorn.

Thar. Good calendars, Lycus! Well, I'll pawn this jewel

with thee, my next encounter shall quite alter my

brother's judgment. Come, let's in; he shall commend

it for a discreet and honourable attempt.

Men's judgments sway on that side Fortune leans,

Thy wishes shall assist me.

Lycus. And my means.

[Exeunt.]

ACT II, SCENE IV.

Enter Argus, Clinias, Sthenia, Ianthe.

Arg. I must confess I was ignorant what 'twas to court

a lady till now.

Sthen. And I pray you, what is it now?

Arg. To court her, I perceive, is to woo her with letters

from Court; for so this Spartan lord's Court discipline

teacheth.

Sthen. His lordship hath procured a new packet from

his Altitude.

Clin. If he bring no better ware than letters in's packet,

I shall greatly doubt of his good speed.

Ian. If his lordship did but know how gracious his

aspect is to my lady in this solitary humour.

Clin. Well, these retired walks of hers are not usual,

and bode some alteration in her thoughts. What may

be the cause, Sthenia?

Sthen. Nay, 'twould trouble Argus with his hundred

eyes to descry the cause.

Ian. Venus keep her upright, that she fall not from the

state of her honour; my fear is that some of these

serpentine suitors will tempt her from her constant vow

of widowhood. If they do, good night to our good days!

Sthen. 'Twere a sin to suspect her: I have been witness

to so many of her fearful protestations to our late lord

against that course; to her infinite oaths imprinted on his

lips, and sealed in his heart with such imprecations to

her bed, if ever it should receive a second impression;

to her open and often destestations of that incestuous

life (as she termed it) of widows' marriages, as being

but a kind of lawful adultery, like usury permitted by

the law, not approved; that to wed a second, was no

better than to cuckold the first; that women should

entertain wedlock as one body, as one life, beyond

which there were no desire, no thought, no repentance

from it, no restitution to it: so as if the conscience of her

vows should not restrain her, yet the world's shame to

break such a constant resolution, should repress any

such motion in her.

Arg. Well, for vows, they are gone to Heaven with her

husband, they bind not upon earth; and as for women's

resolutions, I must tell you, the planets, and (as Ptolemy

says) the winds have a great stroke in them. Trust not

my learning if her late strangeness and exorbitant

solitude be not hatching some new monster.

Ian. Well applied, Argus; make you husbands

monsters?

Arg. I spoke of no husbands: but you wenches have

the pregnant wits to turn monsters into husbands, as

you turn husbands into monsters.

Sthen. Well, Ianthe, 'twere high time we made in to

part our lady and her Spartan wooer.

Ian. We shall appear to her like the two fortunate stars

in a tempest to save the shipwrack of her patience.

Sthen. Ay, and to him too, I believe; for by this time he

hath spent the last dram of his news.

Arg. That is, of his wit.

Sthen. Just, good wittols!

Ian. If not, and that my lady be not too deep in her new

dumps, we shall hear from his lordship what such a lord

said of his wife the first night he embraced her; to what

gentleman such a count was beholding for his fine

children; what young lady such an old count should

marry; what revels, what presentments, are towards;

and who penned the pegmas, and so forth: and yet, for

all this, I know her harsh suitor hath tired her to the

uttermost scruple of her forbearance, and will do more,

unless we two, like a pair of shears, cut asunder the

thread of his discourse.

Sthen. Well then, let's in; but, my masters, wait you

on your charge at your perils, see that you guard her

approach from any more intruders.

Ian. Excepting young Tharsalio.

Sthen. True, excepting him indeed, for a guard of men

is not able to keep him out, an't please your honour.

Arg. Oh, wenches, that's the property of true valour,

to promise like a pigmy and perform like a giant. If he

come, I'll be sworn I'll do my lady's commandment upon

him.

Ian. What, beat him out?

Sthen. If he should, Tharsalio would not take it ill at his

hands, for he does but his lady's commandment.

Enter Tharsalio.

Arg. Well, by Hercules, he comes not here!

Sthen. By Venus, but he does: or else she hath heard

my lady's prayers, and sent some gracious spirit in his

likeness to fright away that Spartan wooer that haunts

her.

Thar. There stand her sentinels.

Arg. 'Slight, the ghost appears again!

Thar. Save ye, my quondam fellows in arms! Save ye,

my women!

Sthen. Your women, sir?

Thar. 'Twill be so. What, no courtesies? No

preparation of grace? Observe me, I advise you for

your own sakes.

Ian. For your own sake, I advise you to pack hence,

lest your impudent valour cost you dearer than you think.

Clin. What senseless boldness is this, Tharsalio?

Arg. Well said, Clinias, talk to him.

Clin. I wonder that notwithstanding the shame of your

last entertainment, and threatenings of worse, you would

yet presume to trouble this place again.

Thar. Come, y' are a widgeon; off with your hat, sir,

acknowledge! Forecast is better than labour. Are you

squint-eyed? Can you not see afore you? A little

foresight, I can tell you, might stead you much,

as the stars shine now.

Clin. 'Tis well, sir, 'tis not for nothing your brother is

ashamed on you. But, sir, you must know, we are

charged to bar your entrance.

Thar. But, whiffler, know you, that whoso shall dare to

execute that charge, I'll be his executioner.

Arg. By Jove, Clinias, methinks the gentleman speaks

very honourably.

Thar. Well, I see this house needs reformation; here's

a fellow stands behind now of a forwarder insight than

ye all. − What place hast thou?

Arg. What place you please, sir.

Thar. Law you, sir! Here's a fellow to make a

gentleman usher, sir! I discharge you of the place,

and do here invest thee into his room. Make much of

thy hair, thy wit will suit it rarely. And for the full

possession of thine office, come, usher me to thy lady;

and to keep thy hand supple, take this from me.

Arg. No bribes, sir, an't please your worship!

Thar. Go to, thou dost well, but pocket it for all that;

it's no impair to thee, the greatest do 't.

Arg. Sir, 'tis your love only that I respect, but since out

of your love you please to bestow it upon me, it were

want of courtship in me to refuse it; I'll acquaint my

lady with your coming.

[Exit Argus.]

Thar. How say by this? Have not I made a fit choice,

that hath so soon attained the deepest mystery of his

profession? Good sooth, wenches, a few courtesies

had not been cast away upon your new lord.

Sthen. We'll believe that, when our lady has a new son

of your getting.

Enter Argus, Eudora, Rebus, Hiarbas, Psorabeus.

Eud. What's the matter? Who's that you say is come?

Arg. The bold gentleman, an't please your honour.

Eud. Why, thou fleering ass, thou –

Arg. An't please your honour.

Eud. Did not I forbid his approach by all the charge

and duty of thy service?

Thar. Madam, this fellow only is intelligent; for he

truly understood his command according to the style

of the Court of Venus, that is, by contraries: when you

forbid, you bid.

Eud. By Heaven, I'll discharge my house of ye all!

Thar. You shall not need, madam, for I have already

cashiered your officious usher here, and choosed this

for his successor.

Eud. O incredible boldness!

Thar. Madam, I come not to command your love with

enforced letters, nor to woo you with tedious stories of

my pedigree, as he who draws the thread of his descent

from Leda's distaff, when 'tis well known his grandsire

cried cony skins in Sparta.

Reb. Whom mean you, sir?

Thar. Sir, I name none but him who first shall name

himself.

Reb. The place, sir, I tell you still, and this goddess's

fair presence, or else my reply should take a far other

form upon 't.

Thar. If it should, sir, I would make your lordship an

answer.

Arg. Anser's Latin for a goose, an't please your

honour.

Eud. Well noted, gander; and what of that?

Arg. Nothing, an't please your honour, but that he said

he would make his lordship an answer.

Eud. Thus every fool mocks my poor suitor. Tell me,

thou most frontless of all men, didst thou (when thou

hadst means to note me best) ever observe so base a

temper in me as to give any glance at stooping to my

vassal?

Thar. Your drudge, madam, to do your drudgery.

Eud. Or am I now so scant of worthy suitors that may

advance mine honour, advance my estate, strengthen my

alliance (if I list to wed) that I must stoop to make my

foot my head?

Thar. No, but your side, to keep you warm a-bed. But,

madam, vouchsafe me your patience to that point's

serious answer. Though I confess, to get higher place in

your graces, I could wish my fortunes more honourable,

my person more gracious, my mind more adorned with

noble and heroical virtues, yet, madam (that you think

not your blood disparaged by mixture with mine) deign

to know this: howsoever, I once, only for your love,

disguised myself in the service of your late lord and

mine, yet my descent is as honourable as the proudest

of your Spartan attempters, who, by unknown quills

or conduits underground, draws his pedigree from

Lycurgus his great toe to the Viceroy's little finger, and

from thence to his own elbow, where it will never leave

itching.

Reb. 'Tis well, sir; presume still of the place.

Thar. 'Sfoot, madam, am I the first great personage

that hath stooped to disguises for love? What think you

of our countryman Hercules, that for love put on

Omphale's apron and sate spinning amongst her

wenches, while his mistress wore his lion's skin, and

lamb-skinned him if he did not his business?

Eud. Most fitly thou resemblest thyself to that violent

outlaw that claimed all other men's possessions as his

own by his mere valour. For what less hast thou done?

Come into my house, beat away these honourable

persons –

Thar. That I will, madam. − Hence, ye Sparta-velvets!

[Beating them.]

Psor. Hold, she did not mean so.

Thar. Away, I say, or leave your lives, I protest, here.

Hiar. Well, sir, his Altitude shall know you.

Reb. I'll do your errand, sir.

[Exeunt.]

Thar. Do, good cousin Altitude, and beg the reversion

of the next lady, for Dido has betrothed her love to me.

By this fair hand, madam, a fair riddance of this

Calydonian boar.

Eud. O most prodigious audaciousness!

Thar. True, madam! O fie upon 'em, they are

intolerable! And I cannot but admire your singular

virtue of patience, not common in your sex, and must

therefore carry with it some rare endowment of other

masculine and heroical virtues. To hear a rude Spartan

court so ingenuous a lady, with dull news from Athens

or the Viceroy's Court; how many dogs were spoiled

at the last bull-baiting, what ladies dubbed their

husbands knights, and so forth!

Eud. But hast thou no shame? No sense of what

disdain I showed thee in my last entertainment, chasing

thee from my presence, and charging thy duty not to

attempt the like intrusion for thy life; and dar'st thou

yet approach me in this unmannerly manner? No

question this desperate boldness cannot choose but go

accompanied with other infinite rudenesses.

Thar. Good madam, give not the child an unfit

name, term it not boldness which the sages call true

confidence, founded on the most infallible rock of a

woman's constancy.

Eud. If shame cannot restrain thee, tell me yet if any

brainless fool would have tempted the danger attending

thy approach.

Thar. No, madam, that proves I am no fool. Then had I

been here a fool and a base, low-spirited Spartan, if for

a lady's frown, or a lord's threats, or for a guard of

grooms, I should have shrunk in the wetting, and

suffered such a delicious flower to perish in the stalk,

or to be savagely plucked by a profane finger. No,

madam, first let me be made a subject for disgrace; let

your remorseless guard seize on my despised body, bind

me hand and foot, and hurl me into your ladyship's bed.

Eud. O gods! I protest thou dost more and more make

me admire thee.

Thar. Madam, ignorance is the mother of admiration:

know me better, and you'll admire me less.

Eud. What would'st thou have me know? What seeks

thy coming? Why dost thou haunt me thus?

Thar. Only, madam, that the Ætna of my sighs and

Nilus of my tears, poured forth in your presence, might

witness to your honour the hot and moist affection of

my heart, and work me some measure of favour from

your sweet tongue, or your sweeter lips, or what else

your good ladyship shall esteem more conducible to

your divine contentment.

Eud. Pen and ink-horn, I thank thee! This you learned

when you were a serving-man.

Thar. Madam, I am still the same creature; and I will

so tie my whole fortunes to that style, as, were it my

happiness (as I know it will be) to mount into

my lord's succession, yet vow I never to assume other

title, or state, than your servant's: not approaching your

board, but bidden; not pressing to your bed, but your

pleasure shall be first known, if you will command me

any service.

Eud. Thy vows are as vain as a ruffian's oaths, as

common as the air, and as cheap as the dust. How many

of the light huswives, thy muses, hath thy love promised

this service besides, I pray thee?

Thar. Compare shadows to bodies, madam, pictures to

the life; and such are they to you, in my valuation.

Eud. I see words will never free me of thy boldness,

and will therefore now use blows; and those of the

mortallest enforcement. Let it suffice, sir, that all this

time, and to this place, you enjoy your safety; keep

back; no one foot follow me further; for I protest to

thee, the next threshold past, lets pass a prepared

ambush to thy latest breath.

[Exit Eudora.]

Thar. [He draws] This for your ambush!

Dare my love with death?

[Exit.]

Clin. 'Slight! Follow, an't please your honour!

Arg. Not I, by this light!

Clin. I hope, gentlewomen, you will.

Sthen. Not we, sir, we are no parters of frays.

Clin. Faith, nor I'll be any breaker of customs.

[Exeunt.]

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Before the House of Lysander.

Enter Lysander and Lycus, booted.

Lycus. Would any heart of adamant, for satisfaction of

an ungrounded humour, rack a poor lady's innocency as

you intend to do? It was a strange curiosity in that

Emperor that ripped his mother's womb to see the place

he lay in.

Lys. Come, do not load me with volumes of persuasion;

I am resolved, if she be gold she may abide the test; let's

away. I wonder where this wild brother is.

Enter Cynthia, Hylus, and Ero.

Cyn. Sir!

Lys. I pray thee, wife, show but thyself a woman, and

be silent; question no more the reason of my journey,

which our great Viceroy's charge, urged in this letter,

doth enforce me to.

Cyn. Let me but see that letter. There is something

In this presaging blood of mine, tells me

This sudden journey can portend no good;

Resolve me, sweet; have not I given you cause

Of discontent by some misprisiön,

Or want of fit observance? Let me know,

That I may wreak myself upon myself.

Lys. Come, wife, our love is now grown old and staid,

And must not wanton it in tricks of court,

Nor interchanged delights of melting lovers,

Hanging on sleeves, sighing, loath to depart;

These toys are past with us; our true love's substance

Hath worn out all the show; let it suffice,

I hold thee dear; and think some cause of weight,

With no excuse to be dispensed withal,

Compels me from thy most desired embraces.

I stay but for my brother; came he not in last night?

Hyl. For certain no, sir, which gave us cause of

wonder what accident kept him abroad.

Cyn. Pray Heaven it prove not some wild resolution,

bred in him by his second repulse from the Countess.

Lys. Trust me, I something fear it, this insatiate spirit of

aspiring being so dangerous and fatal; desire, mounted

on the wings of it, descends not but headlong.

Enter Tharsalio cloaked.

Hyl. Sir, sir, here's my uncle.

Lys. What, wrapp'd in careless cloak, face hid in hat

unbanded! These are the ditches, brother, in which

outraging colts plunge both themselves and their riders.

Thar. Well, we must get out as well as we may; if not,

there's the making of a grave saved.

Cyn. That's desperately spoken, brother; had it not

been happier the colt had been better broken, and his

rider not fallen in?

Thar. True, sister, but we must ride colts before we

can break them, you know.

Lys. This is your blind goddess Confidence.

Thar. Alas, brother, our house is decayed, and my

honest ambition to restore it I hope be pardonable. My

comfort is: the poet that pens the story will write o'er

my head

Magnis tamen excidit ausis!

Which, in our native idiom, lets you know

His mind was high, though Fortune was his foe.

Lys. A good resolve, brother, to out-jest disgrace.

Come, I had been on my journey but for some private

speech with you; let's in.

Thar. Good brother, stay a little, help out this ragged

colt out of the ditch.

[Uncloaks and reveals a splendid suit.]

Lys. How now?

Thar. Now I confess my oversight, this have I

purchased by my confidence.

Lys. I like you, brother, 'tis the true garb, you know,

What wants in real worth supply in show.

Thar. In show? Alas, 'twas even the thing itself;

I op'd my counting house, and took away

These simple fragments of my treasury.

“Husband,” my Countess cried, “take more, more yet”;

Yet I, in haste to pay in part my debt,

And prove myself a husband of her store,

Kissed and came off, and this time took no more.

Cyn. But good brother –

Thar. Then were our honoured spousal rites performed,

We made all short, and sweet, and close, and sure.

Lys. He's rapt.

Thar. Then did my ushers and chief servants stoop,

Then made my women curtsies and envíed

Their lady's fortune: I was magnified.

Lys. Let him alone, this spirit will soon vanish.

Thar. Brother and sister, as I love you, and am true

servant to Venus, all the premises are serious and true,

and the conclusion is: the great Countess is mine, the

palace is at your service, to which I invite you all to

solemnize my honoured nuptials.

Lys. Can this be credited?

Thar. Good brother, do not you envy my fortunate

achievement?

Lys. Nay, I ever said the attempt was commendable –

Thar. Good!

Lys. If the issue were successful.

Thar. A good state conclusion; happy events make

good the worst attempts. Here are your widow-vows,

sister; thus are ye all in your pure naturals; certain

moral disguises of coyness, which the ignorant call

modesty, ye borrow of art to cover your busk points;

which a blunt and resolute encounter, taken under a

fortunate aspect, easily disarms you of; and then, alas,

what are you? Poor naked sinners, God wot! Weak

paper walls thrust down with a finger. This is the way

on't, boil their appetites to a full height of lust; and then

take them down in the nick.

Cyn. Is there probability in this, that a lady so great, so

virtuous, standing on so high terms of honour, should so

soon stoop?

Thar. You would not wonder, sister, if you knew the

lure she stooped at. Greatness? Think you that can curb

affection? No, it whets it more; they have the full stream

of blood to bear them, the sweet gale of their sublimed

spirits to drive them, the calm of ease to prepare them,

the sunshine of fortune to allure them, greatness to waft

them safe through all rocks of infamy. When youth, wit,

and person come aboard once, tell me, sister, can you

choose no but hoise sail, and put forward to the main?

Lys. But let me wonder at this frailty yet;

Would she in so short time wear out his memory,

So soon wipe from her eyes, nay, from her heart,

Whom I myself, and this whole isle besides,

Still remember with grief, the impression of his loss

Taking worthily such root in us;

How think you, wife?

Cyn. I am ashamed on't, and abhor to think

So great and vowed a pattern of our sex

Should take into her thoughts, nay, to her bed

(O stain to womanhood!) a second love.

Lycus. In so short time!

Cyn. In any time!

Lys. No, wife?

Cyn. By Juno, no; sooner a loathsome toad!

Thar. High words, believe me, and I think she'll keep

them. − Next turn is yours, nephew; you shall now

marry my noblest lady-daughter; the first marriage in

Paphos next my nuptials shall be yours. These are

strange occurrents, brother, but pretty and pathetical;

if you see me in my chair of honour, and my Countess

in mine arms, you will then believe, I hope, I am lord

of the palace; then shall you try my great lady's

entertainment, see your hands freed of me, and mine

taking you to advancement.

Lys. Well, all this rids not my business. Wife, you shall

be there to partake the unexpected honour of our house.

Lycus and I will make it our recreation by the way to

think of your revels and nuptial sports. − Brother, my

stay hath been for you. − Wife, pray thee be gone, and

soon prepare for the solemnity; a month returns me.

Cyn. Heavens guide your journey!

Lys. Farewell!

Thar. Farewell, nephew; prosper in virility; but − do

you hear? − keep your hand from your voice; I have a

part for you in our hymeneal show.

Hyl. You speak too late for my voice; but I'll discharge

the part.

[Exit Cynthia, Hylus and Ero.]

Lys. Occurrents call ye them? Foul shame confound

them all! That impregnable fort of chastity and loyalty,

that amazement of the world − O ye deities, could

nothing restrain her? I took her spirit to be too haughty

for such a depression.

Thar. But who commonly more short-heeled than they

that are high i' th' instep?

Lys. Methinks yet shame should have controlled so

sudden an appetite.

Thar. Tush, shame doth extinguish lust as oil doth fire!

The blood once het, shame doth inflame the more,

What they before by art dissembled most,

They act more freely; shame once found is lost;

And to say truth, brother, what shame is due to't? Or

what congruence doth it carry, that a young lady,

gallant, vigorous, full of spirit and complexion, her

appetite new-whetted with nuptial delights, to be

confined to the speculation of a death's-head; or, for

the loss of a husband, the world affording flesh enough,

make the noontide of her years the sunset of her

pleasures?

Lycus. And yet there have been such women.

Thar. Of the first stamp, perhaps, when the metal was

purer than in these degenerate days. Of later years

much of that coin hath been counterfeit, and besides,

so cracked and worn with use, that they are grown light,

and indeed fit for nothing but to be turned over in play.

Lys. Not all, brother!

Thar. My matchless sister only excepted; for she, you

know, is made of another metal than that she borrowed

of her mother. But do you, brother, sadly intend the

pursuit of this trial?

Lys. Irrevocably.

Thar. It's a high project; if it be once raised, the earth

is too weak to bear so weighty an accident; it cannot be

conjured down again without an earthquake: therefore

believe she will be constant.

Lys. No, I will not.

Thar. Then believe she will not be constant.

Lys. Neither! I will believe nothing but what trial

enforces. Will you hold your promise for the governing

of this project with skill and secrecy?

Thar. If it must needs be so. But heark you, brother;

have you no other capricions in your head to entrap my

sister in her frailty, but to prove the firmness of her

widow-vows after your supposed death?

Lys. None in the world.

Thar. Then here's my hand; I'll be as close as my

lady's shoe to her foot, that pinches and pleases her, and

will bear on with the plot till the vessel split again.

Lys. Forge any death, so you can force belief.

Say I was poisoned, drowned.

Thar. Hanged!

Lys. Anything,

So you assist it with likely circumstance; I need not

instruct you; that must be your employment, Lycus.

Lycus. Well, sir!

Thar. But, brother, you must set in, too, to countenance

truth out; a hearse there must be too. It's strange to

think how much the eye prevails in such impressions; I

have marked a widow, that just before was seen

pleasant enough, follow an empty hearse and weep

devoutly.

Lycus. All those things leave to me.

Lys. But, brother, for the bestowing of this hearse in

the monument of our family, and the marshalling of a

funeral –

Thar. Leave that to my care, and if I do not do the

mourner as lively as your heir, and weep as lustily as

your widow, say there's no virtue in onions: that being

done, I'll come to visit the distressed widow, apply old

ends of comfort to her grief, but the burden of my song

shall be to tell her words are but dead comforts; and

therefore counsel her to take a living comfort, that might

ferret out the thought of her dead husband; and will

come prepared with choice of suitors, either my Spartan

lord for grace at the Viceroy's Court, or some great

lawyer that may solder up her cracked estate, and so

forth. But what would you say, brother, if you should

find her married at your arrival?

Lys. By this hand, split her weasand!

Thar. Well, forget not your wager, a stately chariot

with four brave horses of the Thracian breed, with all

appurtenances. I'll prepare the like for you, if you prove

victor. But, well remembered, where will you lurk the

whiles?

Lys. Mewed up close, some short day's journey hence;

Lycus shall know the place. Write still how all things

pass. Brother, adieu; all joy attend you!

Thar. Will you not stay our nuptial now so near?

Lys. I should be like a man that hears a tale

And heeds it not, one absent from himself.

My wife shall attend the countess, and my son.

Thar. Whom you shall hear at your return call me

Father. Adieu; Jove be your speed.

My nuptials done, your funerals succeed.

[Exeunt.]

ACT III, SCENE II.

A Room in the House of Eudora.

Enter Argus barehead.

Arg. A hall, a hall! Who's without there?

Enter two or three with cushions.

Come on, y'are proper grooms, are ye not? 'Slight, I

think y'are all bridegrooms, ye take your pleasures so. A

company of dormice! Their honours are upon coming,

and the room not ready. Rushes and seats instantly!

Enter Tharsalio.

Thar. Now, alas, fellow Argus, how thou art cumbered

with an office!

Arg. Perfume, sirrah, the room's dampish.

Thar. Nay, you may leave that office to the ladies,

they'll perfume it sufficiently.

Arg. [perceiving Tharsalio] Cry mercy, sir! Here's

a whole chorus of Sylvans at hand, cornetting and

tripping o' th' toe, as the ground they trod on were too

hot for their feet. The device is rare; and there's your

young nephew too, he hangs in the clouds deified with

Hymen's shape.

Thar. Is he perfect in's part? Has not his tongue learned

of the Sylvans to trip o' th' toe?

Arg. Sir, believe it, he does it preciously for accent and

action, as if he felt the part he played; he ravishes all the

young wenches in the palace; pray Venus my young

lady Laodice have not some little prick of Cupid in her,

she's so diligent at's rehearsals.

Thar. No force, so my next vows be heard, that

if Cupid have pricked her, Hymen may cure her.

Arg. You mean your nephew, sir, that presents

Hymen.

Thar. Why, so! I can speak nothing but thou art within

me; fie of this wit of thine, 'twill be thy destruction! But

howsoever you please to understand. Hymen send the

boy no worse fortune; and where's my lady's honour?

Arg. At hand, sir, with your unparagoned sister; please

you take your chair of honour, sir?

Thar. Most serviceable Argus, the gods reward thy

service; for I will not.

Enter Eudora leading Cynthia, Laodice, Sthenia,

Ianthe, Ero, with others following.

Eud. Come, sister, now we must exchange that name

For stranger titles, let's dispose ourselves

To entertain these Sylvan revellers

That come to grace our lovèd nuptials.

I fear me we must all turn nymphs to-night,

To side those sprightly wood-gods in their dances;

Can you do't nimbly, sister? 'Slight, what ails you,

Are you not well?

Cyn. Yes, madam.

Eud. But your looks,

Methinks, are cloudy; suiting ill the sunshine

Of this clear honour to your husband's house.

Is there aught here that sorts not with your liking?

Thar. Blame her not, mistress, if her looks show care.

Excuse the merchant's sadness that hath made

A doubtful venture of his whole estate,

His livelihood, his hopes, in one poor bottom,

To all encounters of the sea and storms.

Had you a husband that you loved as well.

Would you not take his absent plight as ill?

Cavil at every fancy? Not an object

That could present itself, but it would forge

Some vain objection that did doubt his safety;

True love is ever full of jealousy.

Eud. Jealous? Of what? Of every little journey?

Mere fancy, then, is wanton; and doth cast

At those slight dangers there too doting glances;

Misgiving minds ever provoke mischances.

Shines not the sun in his way bright as here?

Is not the air as good? What hazard doubt you?

Arg. His horse may stumble, if it please your honour;

The rain may wet, the wind may blow on him;

Many shrewd hazards watch poor travellers.

Eud. True, and the shrewdest thou hast reckoned us. −

Good sister, these cares fit young married wives.

Cyn. Wives should be still young in their husbands' loves.

Time bears no scythe should bear down them before him;

Our lives he may cut short, but not our loves.

Thar. Sister, be wise, and ship not in one bark

All your ability; if he miscarry,

Your well-tried wisdom should look out for new.

Cyn. I wish them happy winds that run that course;

From me 'tis far; one temple sealed our troth;

One tomb, one hour shall end and shroud us both.

Thar. Well, y'are a phoenix; there, be that your cheer:

Love with your husband be your wisdom here.

Heark, our sports challenge it! Sit, dearest mistress.

Eud. Take your place, worthiest servant.

[Music.]

Thar. Serve me, Heaven,

As I my heavenly mistress! − Sit, rare sister.

[Music: Hymen descends, and six Sylvans

enter beneath, with torches.]

Arg. A hall, a hall! Let no more citizens in there!

Laod. O not my cousin, see, but Hymen's self.

Sthen. He does become it most enflamingly.

Hym. Hail, honoured bridegroom, and his princely bride,

With the most famed for virtue, Cynthia;

And this young lady, bright Laodice,

One rich hope of this noblest family –

Sthen. Heark how he courts. He is enamoured too.

Laod. Oh, grant it, Venus, and be ever honoured!

Hym. In grace and love of you, I, Hymen, searched

The groves and thickets that embrace this palace

With this clear-flamed and good-aboding torch

For summons of these fresh and flowery Sylvans

To this fair presence, with their winding hays,

Active and antic dances, to delight

Your frolic eyes, and help to celebrate

These noblest nuptials; which great Destiny

Ordained past custom and all vulgar object,

To be the readvancement of a house

Noble and princely, and restore this palace

To that name that six hundred summers since

Was in possession of this bridegroom's ancestors,

The ancient and most virtue-famed Lysandri. −

Sylvans, the courtships you make to your Dryads,

Use to this great bride and these other dames,

And heighten with your sports my nuptial flames.

Laod. O, would himself descend, and me command!

Sthen. Dance, and his heart catch in another's hand.

[Sylvans take out the Bride and the rest;

they dance; after which, and all set in

their places, Hymen speaks.]

Hym. Now, what e'er power my torch's influence

Hath in the blessings of your nuptial joys,

Great bride and bridegroom, you shall amply part

Betwixt your free loves, and forego it never.

Omnes. Thanks to great Hymen and fair Sylvans ever.

[Exeunt.]

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

A Room in the House of Eudora.

Enter Tharsalio, and Lycus with his arm in a scarf,

a night-cap on his head.

Lycus. I hope, sir, by this time –

Thar. Put on, man, by ourselves!

Lycus. The edge of your confidence is well taken off;

would you not be content to withdraw your wager?

Thar. Faith, fellow Lycus, if my wager were weakly

built, this unexpected accident might stagger it. For the

truth is, this strain is extraordinary, to follow her

husband's body into the tomb, and there, for his

company, to bury herself quick; it's new and stirring;

but, for all this, I'll not despair of my wager.

Lycus. Why, sir, can you think such a passion

dissembled?

Thar. All's one for that; what I think I think. In the

meantime, forget not to write to my brother how the plot

hath succeeded, that the news of his death hath taken, a

funeral solemnity performed, his supposed corse

bestowed in the monument of our family, thou and I

horrible mourners. But above all, that his intolerable

virtuous widow, for his love, and (for her love) Ero, her

handmaid, are descended with his corse into the vault;

there wipe their eyes time out of mind, drink nothing but

their own tears, and by this time are almost dead with

famine. There's a point will sting it (for you say 'tis

true); where left you him?

Lycus. At Dipolis, sir, some twenty miles hence.

Thar. He keeps close?

Lycus. Ay, sir, by all means; skulks unknown under

the name of a strange knight.

Thar. That may carry him without descrying, for

there's a number of strange knights abroad. You left

him well?

Lycus. Well, sir, but for this jealous humour that haunts

him.

Thar. Well, this news will absolutely purge that

humour. Write all; forget not to describe her passion

at thy discovery of his slaughter. Did she perform it

well for her husband's wager?

Lycus. Perform it, call you it? You may jest; men hunt

hares to death for their sports, but the poor beasts die in

earnest: you wager of her passions for your pleasure,

but she takes little pleasure in those earnest passions. I

never saw such an ecstasy of sorrow, since I knew the

name of sorrow. Her hands flew up to her head like

Furies, hid all her beauties in her dishevelled hair, and

wept as she would turn fountain. I would you and her

husband had been behind the arras but to have heard

her. I assure you, sir, I was so transported with the

spectacle, that, in despite of my discretion, I was forced

to turn woman and bear a part with her. Humanity

broke loose from my heart and streamed through mine

eyes.

Thar. In prose, thou wept'st. So have I seen many a

moist auditor do at a play, when the story was but a

mere fiction. And didst act the Nuntius well? Would

I had heard it! Could'st thou dress thy looks in a

mournful habit?

Lycus. Not without preparation, sir, no more than my

speech; 'twas a plain acting of an interlude to me to

pronounce the part.

Thar. As how, for Heaven's sake?

Lycus. “Phoebus addressed his chariot towards the west

To change his wearied coursers”, and so forth.

Thar. Nay, on, and thou lov'st me.

Lycus. “Lysander and myself beguiled the way

With interchanged discourse; but our chief theme

Was of your dearest self, his honoured wife,

Your love, your virtue, wondrous constancy.”

Thar. Then was her cue to whimper; on!

Lycus. "When suddenly appeared, as far as sight,

A troop of horse, armed, as we might discern,

With javelins, spears, and such accoutrements.

He doubted nought (as innocency ever

Is free from doubting ill.)”

Thar. There dropt a tear.

Lycus. “My mind misgave me.

They might be mountaineers. At their approach

They used no other language but their weapons,

To tell us what they were; Lysander drew,

And bore himself Achilles-like in fight;

And as a mower sweeps off th' heads of bents,

So did Lysander's sword shave off the points

Of their assaulting lances.

His horse at last, sore hurt, fell under him;

I, seeing I could not rescue, used my spurs

To fly away.”

Thar. What, from thy friend?

Lycus. Ay, in a good quarrel, why not?

Thar. Good; I am answered.

Lycus. “A lance pursued me, brought me back again;

And with these wounds left me t' accompany

Dying Lysander. Then they rifled us,

And left us.

They gone, my breath not yet gone, 'gan to strive

And revive sense; I with my feeble joints

Crawled to Lysander, stirred him, and withal

He gasped, cried "Cynthia!" and breathed no more.”

Thar. O then she howled outright.

Lycus. “Passengers came, and in a chariot brought us

Straight to a neighbour-town; where I forthwith

Coffined my friend in lead, and so conveyed him

To this sad place.”

Thar. 'Twas well; and could not show but strangely.

Lycus. Well, sir, this tale pronounced with terror, suited

with action, clothed with such likely circumstance, my

wounds in show, her husband's hearse in sight − think

what effect it wrought; and if you doubt, let the sad

consequence of her retreat to his tomb be your woeful

instructor.

Thar. For all this, I'll not despair of my wager;

These griefs that sound so loud, prove always light,

True sorrow evermore keeps out of sight.

This strain of mourning wi' th' sepulchre, like an

overdoing actor, affects grossly, and is indeed so far

forced from the life, that it bewrays itself to be

altogether artificial. To set open a shop of mourning!

'Tis palpable. Truth, the substance, hunts not after the

shadow of popular fame. Her officious ostentation of

sorrow condemns her sincerity. When did ever woman

mourn so unmeasurably, but she did dissemble?

Lycus. O gods, a passion thus borne, thus apparelled

with tears, sighs, swownings, and all the badges of true

sorrow, to be dissembled! By Venus, I am sorry I ever

set foot in't. Could she, if she dissembled, thus dally

with hunger, be deaf to the barking of her appetite, not

having these four days relieved nature with one dram

of sustenance?

Thar. For this does she look to be deified, to have

hymns made of her, nay to her; the tomb where she is

to be no more reputed the ancient monument of our

family, the Lysandri, but the new-erected altar of

Cynthia, to which all the Paphian widows shall after

their husbands' funerals offer their wet muckinders for

monuments of the danger they have passed, as seamen

do their wet garments at Neptune's temple after a

shipwrack.

Lycus. Well, I'll apprehend you, at your pleasure; I, for

my part, will say that if her faith be as constant as her

love is hearty and unaffected, her virtues may justly

challenge a deity to enshrine them.

Thar. Ay, there's another point, too. But one of those

virtues is enough at once. All natures are not capable of

all gifts. If the brain of the wise were in the heads of

the learned, then might parish clerks be common-

councilmen, and poets aldermen's deputies. My sister

may turn Niobe for love; but till Niobe be turned to a

marble, I'll not despair but she may prove a woman. Let

the trial run on; if she do not outrun it, I'll say poets are

no prophets, prognosticators are but mountebanks, and

none tell true but wood-mongers.

[Exit.]

Lycus. A sweet gentleman you are! I marvel what

man, what woman, what name, what action, doth his

tongue glide over, but it leaves a slime upon't? Well,

I'll presently to Dipolis, where Lysander stays, and

will not say but she may prove frail:

But this I'll say, if she should chance to break,

Her tears are true, though women's truths are weak.

[Exit.]

ACT IV, SCENE II.

The Graveyard.

Enter Lysander, like a Soldier disguised

at all parts; a half-pike, gorget, etc.

He discovers the tomb, looks in, and wonders, etc.

Lys. O miracle of Nature, women's glory,

Men's shame, and envy of the deities!

Yet must these matchless creatures be suspected,

Accused, condemned! Now by th’ immortal gods,

They rather merit altars, sacrifice,

Than love and courtship.

Yet see, the queen of these lies here interred,

Tearing her hair, and drownèd in her tears,

Which Jove should turn to crystal, and a mirror

Make of them, wherein men may see and wonder

At women's virtues. Shall she famish, then?

Will men, without dissuasions, suffer thus

So bright an ornament to earth, tombed quick

In earth's dark bosom? − Ho! Who's in the tomb there?

Ero. [within] Who calls? Whence are you?

Lys. I am a soldier of the watch and must enter.

Ero. Amongst the dead?

Lys. Do the dead speak? Ope, or I'll force it open.

Ero. [opening the door of the tomb]

What violence is this? What seek you here,

Where nought but Death and her attendants dwell?

Lys. What wretched souls are you, that thus by night

Lurk here amongst the dead?

Ero. Good soldier, do not stir her.

She's weak, and quickly seized with swowning and passions,

And with much trouble shall we both recall

Her fainting spirits.

Five days thus hath she wasted, and not once

Seasoned her palate with the taste of meat;

Her powers of life are spent; and what remains

Of her famished spirit serves not to breathe but sigh.

She hath exiled her eyes from sleep or sight,

And given them wholly up to ceaseless tears

Over that ruthful hearse of her dear spouse,

Slain by bandittos, nobly-born Lysander.

Lys. And hopes she with these heavy notes and cries

To call him from the dead? In these five days

Hath she but made him stir a finger or fetch

One gasp of that forsaken life she mourns? −

Come, honoured mistress, I admire your virtues,

But must reprove this vain excess of moan;

Rouse yourself, lady, and look up from death. −

Well said, 'tis well; stay by my hand and rise.

This face hath been maintained with better huswifery.

Cyn. [at the door of the tomb]

What are you?

Lys. Lady, I am sentinel,

Set in this hallowed place, to watch and guard,

On forfeit of my life, these monuments

From rape and spoil of sacrilegious hands;

And save the bodies, that without you see,

Of crucified offenders, that no friends

May bear them hence to honoured burial.

Cyn. Thou seem'st an honest soldier; pray thee then,

Be as thou seem'st; betake thee to thy charge,

And leave this place; add not afflictiön

To the afflicted.

Lys. You misname the children.

For what you term affliction now, in you

Is but self-humour; voluntary penance

Imposed upon yourself, and you lament,

As did the Satyr once, that ran affrighted

From that horn's sound that he himself had winded.

Which humour to abate, my counsel tending your
termed affliction,

What I for physic give, you take for poison.

I tell you, honoured mistress, these ingredients

Are wholesome, though perhaps they seem untoothsome.

Ero. [Aside] This soldier, sure, is some decayed pothecary.

Lys. Dear ghost, be wise, and pity your fair self,

Thus by yourself unnaturally afflicted;

Chide back heart-breaking groans, clear up those lamps,

Restore them to their first creatiön,

Windows for light, not sluices made for tears;

Beat not the senseless air with needless cries,

Baneful to life and bootless to the dead.

This is the inn where all Deucalion's race,

Sooner or later, must take up their lodging;

No privilege can free us from this prison;

No tears, no prayers, can redeem from hence

A captived soul; make use of what you see;

Let this affrighting spectacle of death

Teach you to nourish life.

Ero. Good mistress hear him; this is a rare soldier.

Lys. Say that with abstinence you should unloose

The knot of life; suppose that in this tomb

For your dear spouse you should entomb yourself

A living corse; say that before your hour,

Without due summons from the Fates, you send

Your hasty soul to hell; can your dear spouse

Take notice of your faith and constancy?

Shall your dear spouse revive to give you thanks?

Cyn. Idle discourser!

Lys. No, your moans are idle.

Go to, I say, be counselled! Raise yourself;

Enjoy the fruits of life, there's viands for you.

Now, live for a better husband. No? Will you none?

Ero. For love of courtesy, good mistress, eat,

Do not reject so kind and sweet an offer;

Who knows but this may be some Mercury

Disguised, and sent from Juno to relieve us?

Did ever any lend unwilling ears

To those that came with messages of life?

Cyn. I pray thee leave thy rhetoric.

Ero. By my soul, to speak plain truth, I could rather

wish t' employ my teeth than my tongue, so your

example would be my warrant.

Cyn. Thou hast my warrant.

Lys. Well then, eat, my wench;

Let obstinacy starve, fall to!

Ero. Persuade

My mistress first.

Lys. 'Slight, tell me, lady.

Are you resolved to die? If that be so,

Choose not, for shame, a base and beggar's death;

Die not for hunger, like a Spartan lady;

Fall valiantly upon a sword, or drink

A noble death, expel your grief with poison.

There 'tis, seize it.

[offering his sword]

Tush, you dare not die! −

Come, wench,

Thou hast not lost a husband; thou shalt eat;

Th' art now within the place where I command.

Ero. I protest, sir!

Lys. Well said; eat, and protest; or I'll protest,

And do thou eat; thou eat'st against thy will,

That's it thou would'st say?

Ero. It is.

Lys. And under such a protestation

Thou lost thy maidenhead. −

For your own sake, good lady, forget this husband;

Come, you are now become a happy widow,

A blessedness that many would be glad of.

That and your husband's inventory together,

Will raise you up husbands enow. What think you of me?

Cyn. Trifler, pursue this wanton theme no further;

Lest (which I would be loath) your speech provoke

Uncivil language from me; I must tell you,

One joint of him I lost was much more worth

Than the racked value of thy entire body.

Ero. O know what joint she means!

Lys. Well, I have done;

And well done, frailty; proface! How lik'st thou it?

Ero. Very toothsome ingredients surely, sir;

Want but some liquor to incorporate them.

Lys. There 'tis, carouse!

Ero. I humbly thank you, sir.

Lys. Hold, pledge me now!

Ero. 'Tis the poison, sir,

That preserves life, I take it.

[Bibit Ancilla.]

Lys. Do so, take it!

Ero. Sighing has made me something short-winded.

I'll pledge y' at twice.

Lys. 'Tis well done; do me right!

Ero. I pray, sir, have you been a pothecary?

Lys. Marry have I, wench! A woman's pothecary.

Ero. Have you good ingredients?

I like your bottle well. − Good mistress, taste it.

Try but the operation, 'twill fetch up

The roses in your cheeks again.

Doctor Verolles' bottles are not like it;

There's no guaiacum here, I can assure you.

Lys. This will do well anon.

Ero. Now fie upon't!

Oh, I have lost my tongue in this same limbo;

The spring on't's spoiled, methinks; it goes not off

With the old twang.

Lys. Well said, wench, oil it well; 'twill make it slide

well.

Ero. Aristotle says, sir, in his Posterionds –

Lys. This wench is learnèd − and what says he?

Ero. That when a man dies, the last thing that moves

is his heart; in a woman her tongue.

Lys. Right; and adds further, that you women are

A kind of spinners; if their legs be plucked off.

Yet they'll still wag them; so will you your tongues.

[Aside] With what an easy change does this same weakness

Of women slip from one extreme t' another?

All these attractions take no hold of her;

No, not to take refection; 't must not be thus. –

Well said, wench; tickle that Helicon!

But shall we quit the field with this disgrace

Given to our oratory? Both not gain

So much ground of her as to make her eat?

Ero. Faith, the truth is, sir, you are no fit organ

For this business;

'Tis quite out of your element.

Let us alone, she'll eat, I have no fear:

A woman's tongue best fits a woman's ear.

Jove never did employ Mercury,

But Iris, for his messenger to Juno.

Lys. Come, let me kiss thee, wench; wilt undertake

To make thy mistress eat?

Ero. It shall go hard, sir.

But I will make her turn flesh and blood,

And learn to live as other mortals do.

Lys. Well said; the morning hastes; next night expect me.

Ero. With more provision, good sir.

Lys. Very good!

[Exiturus.]

Ero. And bring more wine.

[She shuts up the tomb.]

Lys. What else? Shalt have enough. −

O Cynthia, heir of her bright purity

Whose name thou dost inherit, thou disdain'st

(Severed from all concretiön) to feed

Upon the base food of gross elements.

Thou all art soul, all immortality,

Thou fast for nectar and ambrosia;

Which till thou find'st, and eat'st above the stars,

To all food here thou bidd'st celestial wars.

[Exit.]

ACT IV, SCENE III.

The Graveyard.

Cynthia, Ero, the tomb opening.

Ero. So; let's air our dampish spirits, almost stifled in

this gross muddy element.

Cyn. How sweet a breath the calmness of the night

Inspires the air withal!

Ero. Well said, now y' are yourself; did not I tell you

how sweet an operation the soldier's bottle had? And if

there be such virtue in the bottle, what is there in the

soldier? Know and acknowledge his worth when he

comes, in any case, mistress,

Cyn. So, maid!

Ero. God's my patience! Did you look, forsooth, that

Juno should have sent you meat from her own trencher

in reward of your widow's tears? You might sit and sigh

first till your heart-strings broke, I'll able't.

Cyn. I fear me thy lips have gone so oft to the bottle,

that thy tongue-strings are come broken home.

Ero. Faith, the truth is my tongue hath been so long

tied up, that 'tis covered with rust, and I rub it against

my palate, as we do suspected coins, to try whether it

be current or no. But now, mistress, for an upshot of

this bottle; let's have one carouse to the good speed

of my old master, and the good speed of my new.

Cyn. So, damsel!

Ero. You must pledge it, here's to it. Do me right, I

pray!

Cyn. You say I must.

[She drinks.]

Ero. Must! What else?

Cyn. How excellent ill this humour suits our habit.

Ero. Go to, mistress, do not think but you and I shall

have good sport with this jest, when we are in private at

home. I would to Venus we had some honest shift or

other to get off withal, for I'll no more on't; I'll not turn

salt-petre in this vault for never a man's company living,

much less for a woman's. Sure I am the wonder's over,

and 'twas only for that, that I endured this; and so, o' my

conscience, did you. Never deny it.

Cyn. Nay, pray thee take it to thee.

Heark, I hear some footing near us.

Enter Lysander.

Ero. God's me, 'tis the soldier, mistress! By Venus, if

you fall to your late black Sanctus again, I'll discover

you.

Lys. [Aside] What's here? The maid hath certainly

prevailed with her; methinks those clouds that last night

covered her looks are now dispersed. I'll try this further.

− Save you, lady!

Ero. Honourable soldier, y' are welcome! Please you

step in, sir?

Lys. With all my heart, sweetheart; − by your patience,

lady. Why, this bears some shape of life yet! − Damsel,

th'ast performed a service of high reckoning, which

cannot perish unrewarded.

Ero. Faith sir, you are in the way to do it once, if you

have the heart to hold on.

Cyn. Your bottle has poisoned this wench, sir.

Lys. A wholesome poison it is, lady, if I may be judge;

of which sort here is one better bottle more.

Wine is ordained to raise such hearts as sink;

Whom woful stars distemper, let him drink.

I am most glad I have been some mean to this part of

your recovery, and will drink to the rest of it.

Ero. Go to, mistress, pray simper no more; pledge the

man of war here!

Cyn. Come, y' are too rude.

Ero. Good!

Lys. Good sooth, lady, y' are honoured in her service.

I would have you live, and she would have you live

freely, without which life is but death. To live freely

is to feast our appetites freely, without which humans

are stones; to the satisfaction whereof I drink, lady.

Cyn. I'll pledge you, sir.

[She drinks.]

Ero. Said like a mistress, and the mistress of yourself!

Pledge him in love too; I see he loves you. − She's

silent, she consents, sir.

Lys. O happy stars! And now pardon, lady,

[Kisses her.]

Methinks these are all of a piece.

Ero. Nay, if you kiss all of a piece, we shall ne'er have

done. Well, 'twas well offered, and as well taken.

Cyn. If the world should see this!

Lys. The world! Should one so rare as yourself respect

the vulgar world?

Cyn. The praise I have had, I would continue.

Lys. What, of the vulgar? Who hates not the vulgar,

deserves not love of the virtuous. And to affect praise

of that we despise, how ridiculous it is!

Ero. Comfortable doctrine, mistress; edify, edify!

Methinks even thus it was when Dido and Æneas met

in the cave; and heark, methinks I hear some of the

hunters.

[She shuts the tomb.]

ACT V.

SCENE I.

The Graveyard.

Enter Tharsalio, Lycus.

Lycus. 'Tis such an obstinacy in you, sir,

As never was conceited, to run on

With an opinion against all the world

And what your eyes may witness; to adventure

The famishment for grief of such a woman

As all men's merits, met in any one,

Could not deserve.

Thar. I must confess it, Lycus;

We'll therefore now prevent it if we may,

And that our curious trial hath not dwelt

Too long on this unnecessary haunt,

Grief and all want of food not having wrought

Too mortally on her divine disposure.

Lycus. I fear they have, and she is past our cure.

Thar. I must confess with fear and shame as much.

Lycus. And that she will not trust in anything

What you persuade her to.

Thar. Then thou shalt haste

And call my brother from his secret shroud,

Where he appointed thee to come and tell him

How all things have succeeded.

Lycus. This is well;

If, as I say, the ill be not so grown,

That all help is denied her. But I fear

The matchless dame is famished.

[Tharsalio looks into the tomb.]

Thar. 'Slight, who's here?

A soldier with my sister! Wipe, wipe, see,

Kissing, by Jove! She, as I lay, 'tis she!

Lycus. What, is she well, sir?

Thar. O no, she is famished;

She's past our comfort, she lies drawing on.

Lycus. The gods forbid!

Thar. Look thou, she's drawing on.

How say'st thou?

Lycus. Drawing on? Illustrious witchcrafts!

Thar. Lies she not drawing on?

Lycus. She draws on fairly.

Your sister, sir? This she, can this be she?

Thar. She, she, she, and none but she!

[He dances and sings.]

She only queen of love and chastity.

O chastity! This women be!

Lycus. 'Slight, 'tis prodigious!

Thar. Horse, horse, horse!

Four chariot-horses of the Thracian breed

Come, bring me, brother. O the happiest evening,

That ever drew her veil before the sun!

Who is't, canst tell?

Lycus. The soldier, sir, that watches

The bodies crucified in this hallowed place,

Of which to lose one it is death to him;

And yet the lustful knave is at his venery,

While one might steal one.

Thar. What a slave was I,

That held not out my mind's strength constantly

That she would prove thus! O, incredible!

A poor eightpenny soldier! She that lately

Was at such height of interjectiön,

Stoop now to such a base conjunctiön!

By Heaven, I wonder, now I see't in act,

My brain could ever dream of such a thought.

And yet 'tis true. Rare, peerless, is't not, Lycus?

Lycus. I know not what it is, nor what to say.

Thar. O had I held out (villain that I was)

My blessèd confidence but one minute longer,

I should have been eternized. God's my fortune.

What an unspeakable sweet sight it is!

O eyes, I'll sacrifice to your dear sense,

And consecrate a fane to Confidence.

Lycus. But this you must at no hand tell your brother;

Twill make him mad; for he that was before

So scourged but only with bare jealousy,

What would he be if he should come to know it?

Thar. He would be less mad; for your only way

To clear his jealousy is to let him know it.

When knowledge comes, suspicion vanishes.

The sunbeams breaking forth swallow the mists. −

But as for you, sir gallant, howsoever

Your banquet seems sweet in your liquorous palate,

It shall be sure to turn gall in your maw. −

Thy hand a little, Lycus, here without!

Lycus. To what?

Thar. No booty serve you, sir soldado,

But my poor sister? Come, lend me thy shoulder,

I'll climb the cross; it will be such a cooler

To my venerean gentleman's hot liver,

When he shall find one of his crucified

Bodies stol'n down, and he to be forthwith

Made fast in place thereof, for the sign

Of the lost sentinel. Come, glorify

Firm confidence in great inconstancy.

And this believe (for all proved knowledge swears)

He that believes in error, never errs.

[Exeunt.]

[The tomb opens, disclosing Lysander,

Cynthia, Ero.]

Lys. 'Tis late; I must away.

Cyn. Not yet, sweet love!

Lys. Tempt not my stay, 'tis dangerous. The law is

strict, and not to be dispensed with. If any sentinel be

too late in's watch, or that by his neglect one of the

crucified bodies should be stolen from the cross, his life

buys it.

Cyn. A little stay will not endanger them.

The day's proclaimer has not yet given warning.

The cock yet has not beat his third alarm.

Lys. What, shall we ever dwell here amongst th'

Antipodes? Shall I not enjoy the honour of my fortune

in public, sit in Lysander's chair, reign in his wealth?

Cyn. Thou shalt, thou shalt; though my love to thee

Hath proved thus sudden, and for haste leapt over

The complement of wooing,

Yet only for the world's opiniön −

Lys. Mark that again!

Cyn. I must maintain a form in parting hence.

Lys. Out upon't! Opinion, the blind goddess of fools,

foe to the virtuous, and only friend to undeserving

persons − contemn it. Thou know'st thou hast done

virtuously, thou hast strangely sorrowed for thy

husband, followed him to death, further thou could'st

not; thou hast buried thyself quick − [Aside] O that

'twere true! – spent more tears over his carcase

than would serve a whole city of saddest widows in

a plague-time, besides sighings and swounings not to be

credited.

Cyn. True; but those compliments might have their

time, for fashion sake.

Lys. Right, opinion, and fashion! 'Sfoot, what call you

time? Th' ast wept these four whole days.

Ero. Nay, by'r lady, almost five!

Lys. Look you there; near upon five whole days!

Cyn. Well, go and see; return, we'll go home.

[Exeunt Cynthia and Ero into the tomb.]

Lys. Hell be thy home! Huge monsters damn ye, and

your whole creation, O ye gods! In the height of her

mourning, in a tomb, within sight of so many deaths, her

husband's believed body in her eye, he dead a few days

before! This mirror of nuptial chastity, this votress of

widow-constancy, to change her faith, exchange kisses,

embraces, with a stranger, and, but my shame withstood,

to give the utmost earnest of her love to an eightpenny

sentinel; in effect, to prostitute herself on her husband's

coffin! Lust, impiety, hell, womanhood itself, add, if

you can, one step to this!

Enter Captain, with two or three Soldiers.

Cap. One of the crucified bodies taken down –

Lys. [Aside] Enough.

[Slinks away.]

Cap. And the sentinel not to be heard of?

1^st Sold. No, sir.

Cap. Make out! Haste, search about for him! Does

none of you know him, nor his name?

2^nd Sold. He's but a stranger here, of some four days'

standing; and we never set eye on him but at setting the

watch.

Cap. For whom serves he? You look well to your

watch, masters!

1^st Sold. For Seigneur Stratio; and whence he is, 'tis

ignorant to us; we are not correspondent for any but our

own places.

Cap. Y' are eloquent. Abroad, I say, let me have him!

[Exeunt Soldiers.]

This negligence will, by the Governor, be wholly cast on

me; he hereby will suggest to the Viceroy that the city-

guards are very carelessly attended.

He loves me not, I know, because of late

I knew him but of mean conditiön;

But now, by Fortune's injudicious hand

Guided by bribing courtiers, he is raised

To this high seat of honour.

Nor blushes he to see himself advanced

Over the heads of ten times higher worths,

But takes it all, forsooth, to his meríts,

And looks (as all upstarts do) for most huge observance.

Well, my mind must stoop to his high place,

And learn within itself to sever him from that,

And to adore th’ authority, the goddess,

However borne by an unworthy beast;

And let the beast's dull apprehension take

The honour done to Isis, done to himself.

I must sit fast, and be sure to give no hold

To these fault-hunting enemies.

[Exit.]

ACT V, SCENE II.

The Graveyard.

Tomb opens, and Lysander within lies along,

Cynthia and Ero.

Lys. Pray thee disturb me not; put out the lights.

Ero. Faith I'll take a nap again.

Cyn. Thou shalt not rest before I be resolved

What happy wind hath driven thee back to harbour?

Was it my love?

Lys. No.

Cyn. Yet say so, sweet, that with the thought thereof

I may enjoy all that I wish in earth.

Lys. I am sought for. A crucified body is stolen while

I loitered here; and I must die for't.

Cyn. Die? All the gods forbid! O this affright

Torments me ten parts more than the sad loss

Of my dear husband.

Lys. [Aside] Damnation! I believe thee.

Cyn. Yet hear a woman's wit;

Take counsel of necessity and it.

I have a body here which once I loved

And honoured above all − but that time's past –

Lys. [Aside] It is; revenge it, Heaven!

Cyn. That shall supply at so extreme a need

The vacant gibbet.

Lys. Cancro! What, thy husband's body?

Cyn. What hurt is't, being dead, it save the living?

Lys. O heart, hold in, check thy rebellious motion!

Cyn. Vex not thyself, dear love, nor use delay;

Tempt not this danger, set thy hands to work.

Lys. I cannot do't; my heart will not permit

My hands to execute a second murther.

The truth is I am he that slew thy husband.

Cyn. The gods forbid!

Lys. It was this hand that bathed my reeking sword

In his life blood, while he cried out for mercy;

But I, remorseless, paunched him, cut his throat,

He with his last breath crying, “Cynthia!”

Cyn. O thou hast told me news that cleaves my heart.

Would I had never seen thee, or heard sooner

This bloody story; yet see, note my truth,

Yet I must love thee.

Lys. Out upon thee, monster!

Go, tell the Governor; let me be brought

To die for that most famous villainy,

Not for this miching, base transgressiön

Of truant negligence.

Cyn. I cannot do't.

Love must salve any murther; I'll be judge

Of thee, dear love, and these shall be thy pains,

Instead of iron, to suffer these soft chains.

[Embracing him.]

Lys. O, I am infinitely obliged.

Cyn. Arise, I say, thou saver of my life,

Do not with vain-affrighting consciënce

Betray a life, that is not thine, but mine;

Rise and preserve it.

Lys. Ha, thy husband's body!

Hang't up, you say, instead of that that's stolen.

Yet I his murtherer, is that your meaning?

Cyn. It is, my love.

Lys. Thy love amazes me.

The point is yet how we shall get it thither.

Ha! Tie a halter about's neck, and drag him to the gallows;

Shall I, my love?

Cyn. So you may do indeed.

Or if your own strength will not serve, we'll aid

Our hands to yours, and bear him to the place.

For Heaven's love, come, the night goes off apace.

Lys. [Aside] All the infernal plagues dwell in thy soul! –

I'll fetch a crow of iron to break the coffin.

Cyn. Do, love; be speedy.

Lys. [Aside] As I wish thy damnation.

[Shuts the tomb.]

[Lysander comes forward.]

O I could tear myself into atoms; off with this antic,

the shirt that Hercules wore for his wife was not

more baneful.

[Throwing off his armour.]

Is't possible there should be such a latitude in the sphere

of this sex, to entertain such an extension of mischief

and not turn Devil? What is a woman? What are the

worst when the best are so past naming? As men like

this, let them try their wives again. Put women to the

test, discover them? Paint them, paint them ten parts

more than they do themselves, rather than look on them

as they are; their wits are but painted that dislike their

painting.

Thou foolish thirster after idle secrets

And ills abroad, look home, and store, and choke thee;

There sticks an Acheloüs' horn of ill,

Copie enough,

As much as Alizon of streams receives,

Or lofty Ida shows of shady leaves.

Enter Tharsalio.

Who's that?

Thar. I wonder Lycus fails me. Nor can I hear what's

become of him. He would not, certain, ride to Dipolis to

call my brother back without my knowledge.

Lys. [Aside] My brother's voice; what makes he

hereabouts so untimely? I'll slip him.

[Exiturus.]

Thar. Who goes there?

Lys. A friend!

Thar. Dear friend, let's know you.

[Recognising Lysander.]

A friend least looked for, but most welcome, and with

many a long look expected here. What, sir, unbooted!

Have you been long arrived?

Lys. Not long, some two hours before night.

Thar. Well, brother, y' have the most rare, admirable,

unmatchable wife, that ever suffered for the sin of a

husband. I cannot blame your confidence indeed now;

'tis built on such infallible ground. Lycus I think be gone

to call you to the rescue of her life. Why she − O

incomprehensible!

Lys. I have heard all related since my arrival. We'll

meet to-morrow. [going]

Thar. What haste, brother! But was it related with

what intolerable pains I and my mistress, her other

friends, matrons and magistrates, laboured her diversion

from that course?

Lys. Yes, yes!

Thar. What streams of tears she poured out, what

tresses of her hair she tore, and offered on your

supposed hearse!

Lys. I have heard all.

Thar. But above all, how since that time her eyes

never harboured wink of slumber these six days; no,

nor tasted the least dram of any sustenance.

Lys. How is that assured?

Thar. Not a scruple!

Lys. Are you sure there came no soldier to her, nor

brought her victuals?

Thar. Soldier? What soldier?

Lys. Why, some soldier of the watch, that attends the

executed bodies. Well, brother, I am in haste; to-morrow

shall supply this night's defect of conference. Adieu!

[Exit Lysander.]

Thar. A soldier? Of the watch? Bring her victuals? Go

to, brother, I have you in the wind: he's unharnessed of

all his travelling accoutrements; I came directly from's

house, no word of him there; he knows the whole

relation; he's passionate. All collections speak he was

the soldier. What should be the riddle of this that he is

stolen hither into a soldier's disguise? He should have

stayed at Dipolis to receive news from us. Whether he

suspected our relation, or had not patience to expect it,

or whether that furious, frantic, capricious devil,

Jealousy, hath tossed him hither on his horns, I cannot

conjecture. But the case is clear, he's the soldier. −

Sister, look to your fame, your chastity's uncovered.

Are they here still? Here, believe it, both, most wofully

weeping over the bottle.

[He knocks.]

Ero. Who's there?

Thar. Tharsalio; open!

Ero. Alas, sir, 'tis no boot to vex your sister and

yourself; she is desperate, and will not hear persuasion;

she's very weak.

Thar. Here's a true-bred chamber-maid! Alas, I am

sorry for't; I have brought her meat and Candian wine

to strengthen her.

Ero. O the very naming on't will drive her into a

swoun; good sir, forbear.

Thar. Yet open, sweet, that I may bless mine eyes

With sight of her fair shrine;

And of thy sweetest self (her famous pandress);

Open, I say! − Sister, you hear me well.

Paint not your tomb without; we know too well

What rotten carcasses are lodged within:

Open I say.

[Ero opens, and he sees her head

laid on the coffin, etc.]

Sister, I have brought you tidings to wake you out of

this sleeping mummery.

Ero. Alas, she's faint, and speech is painful to her!

Thar. Well said, frubber! Was there no soldier here

lately?

Ero. A soldier? When?

Thar. This night, last night, tother night; and I know

not how many nights and days.

Cyn. Who's there?

Ero. Your brother, mistress, that asks if there were

not a soldier here.

Cyn. Here was no soldier.

Ero. Yes, mistress; I think here was such a one, though

you took no heed of him.

Thar. Go to, sister! Did not you join kisses, embraces,

and plight indeed the utmost pledge of nuptial love with

him? Deny't, deny't; but first hear me a short story. The

soldier was your disguised husband; dispute it not.

That you see yonder is but a shadow; an empty chest,

containing nothing but air. Stand not to gaze at it, 'tis

true. This was a project of his own contriving, to put

your loyalty and constant vows to the test; y' are

warned, be armed.

[Exit.]

Ero. O fie o' these perils!

Cyn. O Ero, we are undone!

Ero. Nay, you'd ne'er be warned; I ever wished you to

withstand the push of that soldier's pike, and not enter

him too deep into your bosom, but to keep sacred your

widow's vows made to Lysander.

Cyn. Thou didst, thou didst!

Ero. Now you may see th' event. Well, our safety lies

in our speed; he'll do us mischief if we prevent not his

coming. Let's to your mother's, and there call out your

mightiest friends to guard you from his fury. Let them

begin the quarrel with him for practising this villany on

your sex to entrap your frailties.

Cyn. Nay, I resolve to sit out one brunt more.

To try to what aim he'll enforce his project;

Were he some other man, unknown to me,

His violence might awe me;

But knowing him as I do, I fear him not.

Do thou but second me, thy strength and mine

Shall master his best force,

If he should prove outrageous.

Despair, they say, makes cowards turn courageous.

Shut up the tomb.

[Shuts the tomb.]

ACT V, SCENE III.

The Graveyard.

Enter one of the Soldiers sent out before

to seek the Sentinel.

1^st Sold. All pains are lost in hunting out this soldier;

his fear (adding wings to his heels) out-goes us as far

as the fresh hare the tired hounds. Who goes there?

Enter 2^nd Soldier, another way.

2^nd Sold. A friend!

1^st Sold. O your success and mine, touching this

sentinel, tells, I suppose, one tale; he's far enough, I

undertake, by this time.

2^nd Sold. I blame him not; the law's severe (though

just) and cannot be dispensed.

1^st Sold. Why should the laws of Paphos, with more

rigour than other city laws, pursue offenders, that, not

appeased with their lives' forfeit, exact a justice of them

after death? And if a soldier in his watch, forsooth, lose

one of the dead bodies, he must die for't! It seems the

state needed no soldiers when that was made a law.

2^nd Sold. So we may chide the fire for burning us, or

say the bee's not good because she stings. 'Tis not the

body the law respects, but the soldier's neglect, when

the watch (the guard and safety of the city) is left

abandoned to all hazards. But let him go; and tell me if

your news sort with mine for Lycus, apprehended, they

say, about Lysander's murther.

1^st Sold. 'Tis true; he's at the Captain's lodge under

guard, and 'tis my charge, in the morning, to unclose

the leaden coffin and discover the body. The Captain

will assay an old conclusion, often approved, that

at the murtherer's sight the blood revives again, and

boils afresh; and every wound has a condemning voice

to cry out guilty gainst the murtherer.

2^nd Sold. O world, if this be true; his dearest friend,

his bed-companion, whom of all his friends he culled

out for his bosom!

1^st Sold. Tush, man, in this topsy-turvy world friendship

and bosom-kindness are but made covers for mischief,

means to compass ill. Near-allied trust is but a bridge for

treason. The presumptions cry loud against him, his

answers sound disjointed, cross-legged, tripping up one

another. He names a town whither he brought Lysander

murthered by mountaineers; that's false; some of the

dwellers have been here, and all disclaim it. Besides, the

wounds he bears in show are such as shrews closely

give their husbands, that never bleed, and found to be

counterfeit.

2^nd Sold. O that jade falsehood is never sound of all,

But halts of one leg still.

Truth's pace is all upright, sound everywhere,

And, like a die, sets ever on a square.

And how is Lycus his bearing in this condition?

1^st Sold. Faith (as the manner of such desperate

offenders is till it come to the point), careless and

confident, laughing at all that seem to pity him. But

leave it to th' event. Night, fellow-soldier! You'll not

meet me in the morning at the tomb, and lend me your

hand to the unrigging of Lysander's hearse?

2^nd Sold. I care not if I do, to view Heaven's power in

this unbottomed cellar.

Blood, though it sleep a time, yet never dies.

The gods on murtherers fix revengeful eyes.

[Exeunt.]

Lysander solus with a crow of iron and a halter,

which he lays down,

and puts on his disguise again.

Lys. Come, my borrowed disguise, let me once more

Be reconciled to thee, my trustiest friend;

Thou that in truest shape hast let me see

That which my truer self hath hid from me,

Help me to take revenge on a disguise

Ten times more false and counterfeit than thou.

Thou, false in show, hast been most true to me;

The seeming true hath proved more false than thee.

Assist me to behold this act of lust;

Note, with a scene of strange impiety,

Her husband's murthered corse! O more than horror!

I'll not believe 't untried; if she but lift

A hand to act it, by the fates, her brains fly out!

Since she has madded me, let her beware my horns.

For though by goring her no hope be shown

To cure myself, yet I'll not bleed alone.

[He knocks.]

Ero. Who knocks?

Lys. The soldier; open!

[She opens, and he enters.]

See, sweet, here are the engines that must do't,

Which, with much fear of my discovery,

I have at last procured.

Shall we about this work? I fear the morn

Will overtake's; my stay hath been prolonged

With hunting obscure nooks for these employments!

The night prepares a way. Come, art resolved?

Cyn. Ay, you shall find me constant.

Lys. Ay, so I have, most prodigiously constant;

Here's a rare halter to hug him with.

Ero. Better you and I join our hands and bear him

thither, you take his head.

Cyn. Ay, for that was always heavier than's whole

body besides.

Lys. [Aside] You can tell best that loaded it.

Ero. I'll be at the feet, I am able to bear against you, I

warrant you!

Lys. Hast thou prepared weak nature to digest

A sight so much distasteful; hast seared thy heart,

It bleed not at the bloody spectacle?

Hast armed thy fearful eyes against th' affront

Of such a direful object?

Thy murthered husband ghastly staring on thee.

His wounds gaping to affright thee, his body soiled with gore!

Fore Heaven my heart shrugs at it.

Cyn. So does not mine;

Love's resolute, and stands not to consult

With petty terror; but in full career

Runs blindfold through an army of misdoubts

And interposing fears; perhaps I'll weep

Or so, make a forced face and laugh again.

Lys. O most valiant love!

I was thinking with myself as I came,

How if this brake to light; his body known;

(As many notes might make it) would it not fix

upon thy fame an unremovèd brand

Of shame and hate; they that in former times

Adored thy virtue, would they not abhor

Thy loathest memory?

Cyn. All this I know, but yet my love to thee

Swallows all this, or whatsoever doubts

Can come against it.

Shame's but a feather balanced with thy love.

Lys. Neither fear nor shame? You are steel to th' proof.

[Aside] But I shall iron you. − Come then, let's to work.

Alas, poor corpse, how many martyrdoms

Must thou endure, mangled by me a villain,

And now exposed to foul shame of the gibbet!

Fore piety, there is somewhat in me strives

Against the deed, my very arm relents

To strike a stroke so inhuman,

To wound a hallowed hearse? Suppose 'twere mine,

Would not my ghost start up and fly upon thee?

Cyn. No, I'd mall it down again with this.

[She snatches up the crow.]

Lys. How now?

[He catches at her throat.]

Cyn. Nay, then, I'll assay my strength; a soldier, and

afraid of a dead man! A soft-roed milk-sop! Come, I'll

do't myself.

Lys. And I look on? Give me the iron.

Cyn. No, I'll not lose the glory on't. This hand, etc.

Lys. Pray thee, sweet, let it not be said the savage act

was thine; deliver me the engine.

Cyn. Content yourself, 'tis in a fitter hand.

Lys. Wilt thou first? Art not thou the most −

Cyn. Ill-destined wife of a transformèd monster,

Who to assure himself of what he knew,

Hath lost the shape of man.

Lys. Ha! Cross-capers?

Cyn. Poor soldier's case! Do not we know you, sir?

But I have given thee what thou cam'st to seek.

Go, satyr, run affrighted with the noise

Of that harsh-sounding horn thyself hast blown.

Farewell; I leave thee there my husband's corpse,

Make much of that.

[Exit cum Ero.]

Lys. What have I done?

Oh, let me lie and grieve and speak no more.

[Tomb closes.]

Enter Captain, Lycus with a guard

of three or four soldiers.

Cap. Bring him away! − You must have patience, sir;

if you can say aught to quit you of those presumptions

that lie heavy on you, you shall be heard. If not, 'tis not

your braves, nor your affecting looks, can carry it. We

we acquit our duties.

Lycus. Y' are Captain o' th' watch, sir?

Cap. You take me right.

Lycus. So were you best do me; see your presumptions

be strong; or be assured that shall prove a dear

presumption to brand me with the murther of my friend.

But you have been suborned by some close villain to

defame me.

Cap. 'Twill not be so put off, friend Lycus; I could wish

your soul as free from taint of this foul act as mine from

any such unworthy practice.

Lycus. Conduct me to the Governor himself to confront

before him your shallow accusations.

Cap. First, sir, I'll bear you to Lysander's tomb to

confront the murthered body, and see what evidence the

wounds will yield against you.

Lycus. You're wise, Captain. But if the body should

chance not to speak − if the wounds should be tongue-

tied, Captain − Where's then your evidence, Captain?

Will you not be laughed at for an officious captain?

Cap. Y' are gallant, sir.

Lycus. Your Captainship commands my service no further.

Cap. Well, sir, perhaps I may, if this conclusion take

not; we'll try what operation lies in torture to pull

confession from you.

Lycus. Say you so, Captain? But heark you, Captain,

might it not concur with the quality of your office, ere

this matter grow to the height of a more threatening

danger, to wink a little at a by-slip or so?

Cap. How's that?

Lycus. To send a man abroad under guard of one of

your silliest shack-rags, that he may beat the knave,

and run's way? I mean this on good terms, Captain; I'll

be thankful.

Cap. I'll think on't hereafter. Meantime I have other

employment for you.

Lycus. Your place is worthily replenished, Captain. My

duty, sir! Heark, Captain, there's a mutiny in your army;

I'll go raise the Governor.

[Exiturus.]

Cap. No haste, sir; he'll soon be here without your

summons.

[Soldiers thrust up Lysander from the tomb.]

1^st Sold. Bring forth the Knight o' th' Tomb; have we

met with you, sir?

Lys. Pray thee, soldier, use thine office with better

temper.

2^nd Sold. Come, convey him to the Lord Governor.

Lys. First afore the Captain, sir. − [Aside] Have the

heavens nought else to do but to stand still, and turn all

their malignant aspects upon one man?

2^nd Sold. Captain, here's the sentinel we sought for;

he's some new-pressed soldier, for none of us know

him.

Cap. Where found you him?

1^st Sold. My truant was miched, sir, into a blind corner

of the tomb.

Cap. Well said, guard him safe. But for the corpse?

1^st Sold. For the corpse, sir? Bare misprision: there's

no body, nothing. A mere blandation, a deceptio visus.

Unless this soldier for hunger have eat up Lysander's

body.

Lycus. Why, I could have told you this before, Captain;

the body was borne away piecemeal by devout ladies of

Venus' order, for the man died one of Venus' martyrs.

And yet I heard since 'twas seen whole o' th' other side

the downs upon a colestaff betwixt two huntsmen, to

feed their dogs withal. Which was a miracle, Captain!

Cap. Mischief in this act hath a deep bottom, and

requires more time to sound it. But you, sir, it seems,

are a soldier of the newest stamp. Know you what

'tis to forsake your stand? There's one of the bodies

in your charge stolen away; how answer you that?

See, here comes the Governor.

Enter a Guard, bare after the Governor;

Tharsalio, Argus, Clinias before Eudora, Cynthia,

Laodice, Sthenia, Ianthe, Ero, etc.

Guard. Stand aside there!

Cap. [Aside] Room for a strange Governor! The

perfect draught of a most brainless, imperious upstart. −

O desert, where wert thou when this wooden dagger

was gilded over with the title of Governor?

Guard. Peace, masters, hear my lord!

Thar. All wisdom be silent; now speaks authority.

Gov. I am come in person to discharge justice.

Thar. Of his office.

Gov. The cause you shall know hereafter; and it is this.

A villain, whose very sight I abhor − Where is he? Let

me see him.

Cap. Is't Lycus you mean, my lord?

Gov. Go to, sirrah; y' are too malapert; I have heard of

your sentinel's escape, look to't.

Cap. My lord, this is the sentinel you speak of.

Gov. How now, sir? What time o' day is't?

Arg. I cannot show you precisely, an't please your

honour.

Gov. What? Shall we have replications, rejoinders?

Thar. [Aside] Such a creature a fool is, when he

bestrides the back of authority.

Gov. Sirrah, stand you forth! It is supposed thou hast

committed a most inconvenient murther upon the body

of Lysander.

Lycus. My good lord, I have not.

Gov. Peace, varlet, dost chop with me? I say it is

imagined thou hast murthered Lysander. How it will be

proved, I know not. Thou shalt therefore presently be

had to execution; as justice, in such cases, requireth. −

Soldiers, take him away. Bring forth the sentinel.

Lycus. Your lordship will first let my defence be heard.

Gov. Sirrah, I'll no fending nor proving! For my part, I

am satisfied it is so; that's enough for thee. I had ever a

sympathy in my mind against him. Let him be had away.

Thar. [Aside] A most excellent apprehension! He's

able, ye see, to judge of a cause at first sight, and hear

but two parties. Here's a second Solon.

Eud. Hear him, my lord; presumptions oftentimes

(Though likely grounded) reach not to the truth,

And truth is oft abused by likelihood.

Let him be heard, my lord.

Gov. Madam, content yourself. I will do justice; I will

not hear him. Your late lord was my honourable

predecessor, but your ladyship must pardon me; in

matters of justice I am blind.

Thar. [Aside] That's true.

Gov. I know no persons. If a Court favourite write to

me in a case of justice, I will pocket his letter, and

proceed. If a suitor in a case of justice thrusts a bribe

into my hand, I will pocket his bribe, and proceed.

Therefore, madam, set your heart at rest; I am seated

in the throne of justice, and I will do justice; I will not

hear him.

Eud. Not hear him, my lord?

Gov. No, my lady: and moreover, put you in mind in

whose presence you stand, if you parrot to me long −

go to!

Thar. [Aside] Nay, the Vice must snap his authority at

all he meets; how shall't else be known what part he

plays?

Gov. Your husband was a noble gentleman, but, alas, he

came short, he was no statesman! He has left a foul city

behind him.

Thar. [Aside] Ay, and I can tell you 'twill trouble his

lordship and all his honourable assistants of scavengers

to sweep it clean.

Gov. It's full of vices, and great ones, too.

Thar. [Aside] And thou none of the meanest.

Gov. But I'll turn all topsy-turvy, and set up a new

discipline amongst you. I'll cut off all perished members.

Thar. [Aside] That's the surgeon's office.

Gov. Cast out these rotten, stinking carcasses, for

infecting the whole city.

Arg. Rotten they may be, but their wenches use to

pepper them, and their surgeons to parboil them; and

that preserves them from stinking, an't please your

honour.

Gov. Peace, sirrah, peace! And yet 'tis well said, too.

A good pregnant fellow, i'faith! But to proceed. I will

spew drunkenness out o' th' city −

Thar. [Aside] Into th' country.

Gov. Shifters shall cheat and starve, and no man shall

do good but where there is no need. Braggarts shall live

at the head, and the tumult that haunt taverns. Asses

shall bear good qualities, and wise men shall use them. I

will whip lechery out o' th' city; there shall be no more

cuckolds. They that heretofore were errant cornutos,

shall now be honest shopkeepers, and justice shall take

place. I will hunt jealousy out of my dominion.

Thar. [Aside] Do ye hear, brother?

Gov. It shall be the only note of love to the husband to

love the wife; and none shall be more kindly welcome to

him than he that cuckolds him.

Thar. [Aside] Believe it, a wholesome reformation!

Gov. I'll have no more beggars. Fools shall have wealth,

and the learned shall live by their wits. I'll have no more

bankrouts. They that owe money shall pay it at their best

leisure, and the rest shall make a virtue of imprisonment,

and their wives shall help to pay their debts. I'll have all

young widows spaded for marrying again. For the

old and withered, they shall be confiscate to unthrifty

gallants and decayed knights; if they be poor they shall

be burnt to make soap-ashes, or given to Surgeons' Hall

to be stamped to salve for the French measles. To

conclude, I will cart pride out o' th' town.

Arg. An't please your honour, pride, an't be ne'er so

beggarly, will look for a coach.

Gov. Well said, o' mine honour! A good significant

fellow, i'faith! What is he? He talks much; does he

follow your ladyship?

Arg. No, an't please your honour, I go before her.

Gov. A good undertaking presence; a well-promising

fore-head! Your gentleman usher, madam?

Eud. Yours, if you please, my lord!

Gov. Born i' th' city?

Arg. Ay, an't please your honour, but begot i' th' Court.

Gov. Tressel-legged?

Arg. Ay, an't please your honour.

Gov. The better; it bears a breadth, makes room o' both

sides. Might I not see his pace?

Arg. Yes, an't please your honour.

[Argus stalks.]

Gov. 'Tis well, 'tis very well! Give me thy hand.

Madam, I will accept this property at your hand, and

will wear it threadbare for your sake. − Fall in there,

sirrah! − And for the matter of Lycus, madam, I must

tell you you are shallow. There's a State point in't.

Heark you! The Viceroy has given him, and we must

uphold correspondence. He must walk. Say one man

goes wrongfully out o' th' world, there are hundreds

to one come wrongfully into th' world.

Eud. Your lordship will give me but a word in private.

[Whispers to the Governor.]

Thar. Come, brother, we know you well. What means

this habit? Why stayed you not at Diopolis, as you

resolved, to take advertisement for us of your wife's

bearing?

Lys. O brother, this jealous frenzy has borne me

headlong to ruin.

Thar. Go to, be comforted! Uncase yourself and

discharge your friend.

Gov. Is that Lysander, say you? And is all his story

true? By'r lady, madam, this jealousy will cost him dear.

He undertook the person of a soldier; and, as a soldier,

must have justice. Madam, his Altitude in this case

cannot dispense. − Lycus, this soldier hath acquitted you.

Thar. And that acquital I'll for him requite; the body

lost is by this time restored to his place.

Sold. It is, my lord.

Thar. These are State points, in which your lordship's time

Has not yet trained your lordship; please your lordship

To grace a nuptial we have now in hand

Twixt this young lady and this gentleman.

[Hylus and Laodice stand together.]

Your lordship there shall hear the ample story;

And how the ass wrapped in a lion's skin

Fearfully roared; but his large ears appeared

And made him laughed at, that before was feared.

Gov. I'll go with you. For my part, I am at a non-plus.

[Eudora whispers with Cynthia.]

Thar. Come, brother, thank the Countess; she hath sweat

To make your peace. −Sister, give me your hand.

So; − brother, let your lips compound the strife,

And think you have the only constant wife.

[Exeunt.]

FINIS